


No Longer Than Yesterday

by jibrailis



Series: Sector 3 [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Aliens, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Gen, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 20:37:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6922510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jibrailis/pseuds/jibrailis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall is: a retired superhero, a wrangler of unruly children, hiding a fugitive in his house, and waiting for Louis to come home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Longer Than Yesterday

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings for** characters dealing with PTSD and combat-related trauma. also, I'm not sure how much this fic would make sense if you haven't read the first one.

He’s on his knees by the communal dining table, trying to convince Colleen that broccoli is both delicious and nutritious, and she’s giving him a look of deep skepticism while kicking his calves. 

“I’ll make a deal with ya,” Niall says. “You eat one broccoli, I’ll eat another. We’ll take turns.” He spears a floret from her plate and stuffs it into his mouth. “So good,” he moans while chewing with his mouth open. He rolls his eyes round and round their sockets, while Colleen looks at him in horror. “Broccoli! Where have you been all me life?” 

“You’re silly, Mr. Horan,” Colleen says.

“Eat your broccoli,” he says, “and we’ll fly together this afternoon, before your da comes to give you a lift home.”

“No Oona,” she says immediately. “I don’t want Oona to come. She’s mean. Yesterday she started laughing at something, and even if she weren’t looking at me, I _know_ she was laughing at me.”

“Oona doesn’t have to come this time,” Niall says, getting up from his knees. “But y’know, I think the two of you could be good friends if you’d only talk to each other.”

“No,” Colleen says.

“Fair enough,” he says. “Eat your broccoli, yeah?”

“Maybe,” Colleen says, and she uses her fork to poke at her lunch with a glum expression. Niall leaves her alone to check on some of the younger boys a few seats down who’ve begun to throw their broccoli at each other. 

“Mr. Horan, look what I can do!” Lorcan shouts, and sticks a piece of broccoli up his nose so that the rest of it dangles upside down like a tree. The other boys laugh uproariously. It’s the sort of thing that’s mind-breakingly funny when you’re ten years old. Pierce laughs so hard that flames shoot out of his ears, making Thuan beside him yelp as he scoots away. But Niall claps his hands over Pierce’s ears, and all’s good. He wears flame-retardant gloves for this very reason, got to be prepared for anything when you’re running a school for young mutants.

He plops down next to them on the bench. “Eat up, eat up, lads,” he says cheerfully. “Who’ve you got lessons with this afternoon? You don’t wanna learn on an empty belly.”

“We’ve got Maths, English, and Gaeilge,” Thuan says. “Then Forms and Control with Mr. Breslin.”

“You’ll _definitely_ want your strength then,” Niall says. Forms and Control is all about learning how not to let your powers get the best of you, how to rein it in when you’re feeling overwhelmed, and Bressie’s a natural choice to teach it, was always better at it than Niall in any case. Niall’s twenty-four and vastly improved from when he was a gangly first-sprouted shapeshifter whose body would quake and change at a loud noise, but he’s no match for Bressie, Bressie who’s like a tall oak, unbending and unyielding.

The tall oak himself is currently on the other side of the dining hall, ringing the bell that says lunch is over. Niall helps him round up the kids and shuffle them to their classes. Bressie’s got seven-year-old Vicky under his arm, carrying her like she’s a wriggly puppy. Vicky’s laughing and trying to headbutt him. “C’mon, c’mon, off with you,” Bressie says, and sets her down on her feet. Vicky grins at them before scrambling after her classmates.

There’s ice particles all over Bressie’s palms and clinging to the side of his t-shirt from where Vicky touched him. He brushes them off. “All good?” Bressie asks.

“All good, big face,” Niall says. “I reckon we ought to be off too. Got classes to teach, kidlets to educate.” He runs a hand through his hair. “When’d we become so respectable?”

When Bressie opened the Westmeath Special Academy, is the answer. It’s been Bressie’s dream since Niall first met him to have a school where mutant kids could feel safe and be supported by people who understood their needs. Niall, who was a late bloomer into his powers, got them when he was nearly eighteen and graduated, doesn’t quite know what it’s like, but Bressie does. Bressie who’s told Niall stories of an entire childhood of losing control in the middle of classes, breaking desks and chalkboards with his superstrength and scaring his teachers. 

There were private mutant schools for Bressie to transfer to — still are, scattered across the country. But none in County Westmeath, none near Mullingar, and none that he could afford growing up, which is why Westmeath Special Academy keeps its fees as low as possible. Runs mostly on Bressie’s savings from his music career, Niall’s One Direction speaking fees, donations, and as many grants the both of them can apply for. It’s stressful stuff, trying to keep the doors open, trying to make sure they’ve all the special equipment they need for their special students, but it’s what Bressie wants to do with his life, and he’s made it Niall’s dream too.

They’ve been open for little more than a year, and the future’s still uncertain, but Niall’s proud of what he’s helped Bressie built. A crumbling estate between Mullingar and Lough Owel that they’ve managed to make livable again, thirty students between the ages of seven and seventeen, and eleven staff. Four teachers who do the regular curriculum subjects, Niall and Bressie for the mutant stuff, a housekeeper, an assistant housekeeper, a cook, and two custodians. It’s proper X-Men shit, he thinks with a laugh.

After lunch he goes to teach Introductory Powers where he’s got the kids who’re still fresh and new, hobbling nervous on their legs. He teaches two sessions, back to back — one for the younger kids, and one for the older kids. He has Intermediate Powers after that, where Lorcan, their resident mind-reader, shouts, jubilantly, “I know what you’re thinkin’ about! I know what you’re thinkin’ about!”

“Tell me then,” Niall says.

“You’re thinkin’ about dinner!” Lorcan says. “You’re hoping it ain’t broccoli again cos you hate broccoli!” and he’s right. Niall gives him a high five. 

When half past three rolls around, it’s time for the kids to go home. There’s a bus they rent that takes the Mullingar kids back to Mullingar. There’s parents as well who drive up to the estate. Niall changes into a hawk, watches Colleen do the same, and they take a lazy turn around the manor and the snowed-over gardens before landing on top of the cottage on the grounds where Niall lives. A brown-flecked sparrow joins them. It’s Mai, who at seventeen is the oldest student at the school. 

With Mai, they launch themselves into the air again, fly with strong wingbeats back to the main building where Niall can see Colleen’s da pull up in his blue Honda Civic. There’s little sheds dotted over the grounds for the shapeshifter kids to change safely without having to flash anyone with their nakedness. Colleen flies into one of them and emerges properly dressed in her winter coat, but her hair’s a tangled mess, not that she cares. 

Niall and Mai take turns changing back into human-form too. “Thuan says Pierce nearly burned him today,” Mai says as they walk through the field.

“Nah, crisis averted,” Niall says, waving his gloved hands. “Pierce’s flames aren’t actually that hot anyway.”

“Good,” Mai frowns. She’s Thuan and Vicky’s big sister, and she’s protective of them in a way that makes Niall ache. The Ngo siblings are among the handful of students who board at the school because their parents are anti-mutant advocates who don’t want them at home. When Bressie found them, he took them all in, even Thuan, who isn’t actually a mutant but might yet be. Last summer, when school was out, they stayed with one of Bressie’s aunts in Galway.

Niall looks up at the sky, sniffs the air. “Weather’s nice today, snow’s melting,” he says. “Fancy a kickabout on the lawn after dinner? You and Vicky versus me and Thuan?”

“We’ll crush you,” Mai says, but she brightens.

Niall walks her up to the manor, waves at Ms. Byrne, one of the primary school teachers as she looks out the window, and then takes the path back to his cottage. There’s time before dinner for a quick kip, or maybe he’ll do some photo-editing — Bressie’s put him in charge of the school yearbook, and Niall’s struggling to learn how to use Photoshop. The walls of his cottage are blooming with heather and roses even in mid-February. He can’t take credit for this particular miracle. The school’s got a pair of fourteen-year-old twins, Lila and Kieran, who can make anything grow. It saves them on having to hire a gardener, Niall likes to joke.

He breathes in the musk of the roses and the evening, listens to the sound of tires on distant gravel roads and the cry of a crow in the bush. Nothing like London, he thinks, though there’s room in his heart for both. Niall’s always been able to land on his feet wherever he’s been dropped. Maybe it’s no surprise that of all the different types of mutant he could be, he ended up a shapeshifter.

The windows are open when he slips inside the cottage, tossing his keys on the tray by the door. He sometimes cracks the windows open even in winter to get the air circulating, and then forgets about it, so that’s not a surprise. What _is_ a surprise is that the cottage smells like smoke, which alarms him for a moment with visions of fiery apocalypse until he sees who’s sitting in his armchair with a cigarette between two fingers, going through Niall’s golf magazines.

“What up,” says Zayn.

 

:::

 

Really, this is a story about Louis Tomlinson. 

All of the stories in Niall’s life, one way or another, circle back to Louis. Niall stops two students from biting each other’s faces off, he thinks of Louis. Niall accidentally steps on a toy truck, he thinks of Louis. Niall eats porridge in the morning — Louis. Niall takes a wee in the bushes — Louis. It’s a bit of a problem, but he suspects there’s no cure. 

(The last time Niall had seen Louis, it’d gone something like this:

“Off to fight the aliens in space,” Louis said in the loading dock at Houston. “Off to win glory and fame and scare the Uninvited off with my huge human cock.”

“I think the whole space-soldier thing might be more effective,” Niall replied, “if you took your hand off my arse.”

“Why would I want to do that?” Louis asked, and he squeezed Niall closer. “I’m gonna miss this arse when I’m gone. This arse has been so good to me. It’s made me a happy man so many times.”

“Lou,” Niall said with a horrified giggle, “Liam’s watching. General Cowell’s watching. They’re waiting for you to board the ship already. To space. Can you believe it? Fuck,” he said, “you’re going to _space_.”

And Louis pulled back so that he could look Niall in the face, see Niall’s wobbly little smile that meant he was proud of Louis, he was going to miss Louis, he wanted Louis to write him every single day of the two years he was going to be stationed on the moon. 

“Marry me,” Louis said).

“Do you got any snacks or summat?” asks Zayn, going through the fridge. He opens up a jar of mayo and sniffs it. 

“Think I’ve some peanut butter and crackers in a cupboard somewhere,” Niall says. “If you want a proper meal, you’ll have to go to the main building. Mrs. Kavanagh’ll have something in the kitchen.”

“Well, can’t do that,” Zayn says. “Wouldn’t do to have soldiers swarming your school cos someone saw me sitting in your cafeteria, stuffing my face.” He leans over Niall with his long arms and starts rummaging through the cupboards. He finds the peanut butter and brightens. 

“Zayn, mate, I thought you were still in Indonesia,” Niall says. Where they don’t have an extradition policy to the U.K, he doesn’t say, because ever since Zayn quit One Direction, left his conscripted military post with a year and a half still on the clock, the military courts have been after him, baying for justice. Niall gets up and closes the windows, pulls the blinds shut. His skin suddenly feels clammy. Zayn’s right. This could be very bad for the school if one of the parents or teachers saw. It was big news in London when Zayn went missing; even though they’re far from all that, someone in sleepy Westmeath might still remember the buzz.

“I promise I was careful,” Zayn says quietly. “Came in through the fields. Bundled myself up so no one could see my face.” Niall notices the oversized quilted jacket tossed on the floor by the armchair, the sunglasses and beanie on top. “I wouldn’t do that to you, Nialler,” Zayn continues. “I wouldn’t jeopardize your school.”

Fuck, Niall thinks, trying not to bite his nails, been trying to kick the habit. There’s two parts to him about this, one that’s starting already to worry, to get angry, to wonder why now when Zayn seemed to be doing perfectly alright swanning around Asia, basking in sun and surf while the rest of them had to keep on fighting. But then he looks at Zayn’s face, sees the crevasses of his cheeks and the bags beneath his eyes, and he’s missed him, so much. Loves this lad down to the meat of his bones.

“C’mere, you,” Niall says, and Zayn makes this quiet, choked sound as Niall hugs him. “Seriously, I’ll go get you some food from the kitchens. There’s barely anything left of you, ya matchstick girl.”

He does just that. It’s a good excuse to clear his head, walking back to the school. Mrs. Kavanagh, who’s getting dinner ready with the help of the boarder kids, trying to keep Thuan from cutting his fingers off as he dices onions for her, barely even notices Niall slip in and out of the larder. When he returns to the cottage he’s got a spread of meat and cheese. Zayn wolfs it down, talking as he chews.

“Been too long gone,” he says. “Thought it’d be easier to show up here than Bradford. Don’t think too many people are looking for me in Ireland.” Niall, sitting cross-legged at his feet, watching Zayn eat with a sort of nauseous awe, nods. “It’d be easier for my family to come here too,” Zayn adds, tearing through a hunk of Mrs. Kavanagh’s sourdough. “Mum and Doniya’ve flown out to Jakarta to visit me before, but it’s too pricy to get everyone out. Easier for them to come to Mullingar, pretend it’s part of some family trip to Ireland. Just a hop across the pond.”

“That’s the plan then?” Niall asks. “When’re they coming?”

“The 20th,” Zayn says. “I’ll just crash with you until then, yeah?” He says it casually, but his eyes search Niall’s face. 

Niall swallows. “Yeah,” he says. “Better here than some hotel, I reckon. But, like, where are you gonna sleep?” He points at the open door to his bedroom. “Only got the one bed unless you want to curl up in this armchair. Which I wouldn’t recommend, not if you want your neck to be one piece in the morning.”

“Oh that’s easy,” Zayn replies. “Was planning on sleeping with you.”

Which is how, that night, Niall finds himself brushing his teeth and climbing into bed with one of the most wanted men in England. Zayn’s got his body tilted towards the lamp, reading a book he pulled out from his luggage. _Fantastic Mr. Fox_ , Niall sees when he leans over him to grab his phone from the nightstand. Zayn grunts when Niall’s knees jab into his sides but he goes back to reading. 

Niall studies him, makes no pretense of it. He thinks of the last time he saw Zayn, thinks of the very moment when Zayn broke. December, two and a half years into their service, around Christmastime. A megaton bug attack in One Canada Square, more enemies than they were ready for, no backup that came in time. The cicadas and the moths smashing through the windows, the ground heaving with poisonous spiders. Holiday season and too many people out and about. Civilians caught in the crossfire. Kids. The casualties messed the whole team up afterwards, Niall crying into Louis’ arms that night, but when they woke up, Zayn’s room was empty and he was gone. 

Zayn sets his book aside and adjusts the lamp’s neck so that it shines right over the bed. “If you’re gonna stare, might as well do it properly.”

“You’re so fucking pretty,” Niall says lightly. “Hard not to stare.”

“Don’t let Louis hear you say that,” Zayn says. “Jealous twat’ll have my bollocks for it.” He stretches, puts his head on the pillow beside Niall’s. Niall smiles at him sleepily. “How _is_ Tommo anyway? He never answered my texts.”

Niall remembers how furious Louis had been by Zayn’s leaving, how hurt he still is by it. He doesn’t give voice to any of that. Zayn already knows. He leans into Zayn and starts scrolling through his phone, pulling up Louis’ last email sent a week ago. He reads it out loud, going over the bits where Louis complains about the dullness of being stationed in space and sitting around waiting for fights.

 _”It’s nothing like the movies say it is,”_ Niall reads, trying to hit the beats of the way Louis talks. _”Even the good parts of it, like flying your plane through hordes of enemies, are flashes in the pan. Mostly, space war’s a lot of looking at screens and doing shit all about it_.”

Zayn, who hates the war so much that he removed himself from it, snorts. Niall narrates the next part, about how Louis and Liam have been filling their time by working out with the other soldiers, even though it’ll be hard to keep some of the muscle mass when they go back to Earth. _”But I’m a lot buffer,_ ” Niall reads. _”Could prolly pick you up over my shoulder now. Wish I could send you a selfie, but that’s not how this space email works, innit, no attachments_.” 

“Too bad,” Niall sighs, but he’s used to it. The rest of the email is mostly Louis complaining about Liam, about how annoying he is, about how earnest he is, about how he caught Liam _scrapbooking_ the other day, about how Louis wishes his best mate would fall off the moon and die. Zayn enjoys this last part immensely. 

“They must be wrapping up the end of their tour now,” Zayn says, yawning. “How long they’ve got left?”

“A month and a bit,” Niall says, and he can feel the smile crack open his face. “They fly back March 17th.”

“You really gonna marry him?” Zayn asks.

Niall turns his cheek to the pillow so that they’re looking at each other like boys sharing a secret at a sleepover. They’re so close he can count each one of Zayn’s magnificent eyelashes. “Yeah,” he says breathlessly. “But don’t get me wrong, it won’t be right away.” He’s not an idiot; he knows Louis mostly proposed in that loading dock because he was terrified Niall would forget him while he was gone. They’re not ready to be proper married adults yet. He remembers something else that Bobby had said to him once, cornering him one evening while Niall was helping him wash up after dinner. 

“Louis won’t be the same when he gets back,” Bobby’d said, peering at some spots on a plate. “Just like you weren’t the same when you came back from London.”

When Louis gets back from the war in space, they’ll need time to get to know each other again. Niall understands this. But instead of it scaring him, the thought of getting to relearn Louis Tomlinson all over again, falling in love with him for a second time, makes him so happy he could melt on the spot. 

“Fuck, why’re we even keeping this lamp on,” Zayn complains, “when we’ve got your daft shining face right here.”

Niall laughs, pulls Zayn into a headlock, and messes up his quiff purposefully while Zayn squawks. “Go to sleep, you wanker,” he says, and Zayn must be more exhausted than he’s letting on, because he doesn’t do well with new beds normally, a tosser and turner by nature, but he’s asleep in an instant, tucked in the crook of Niall’s arm.

 

:::

 

At any given moment at Westmeath Special Academy, everybody has a crush on everybody else. Ms. Byrne has a crush on Mr. Patel, the Maths teacher, Pierce has a crush on Ms. Byrne, Lila has a crush on Devon, Devon has a crush on Mai, Mai has a crush on Bressie, Lorcan has a crush on Ashleigh, Colleen has a crush on Keiran, and Oona has a crush on Colleen so passionate, so all-consuming that the only words that fall out of her mouth every time she sees the object of her affections are ones where she makes fun of her hair.

“There’s nothing wrong with your hair, love,” Niall coaxes. “Your hair is beautiful. Your hair is _wondrous_ ,” while Colleen refuses to come out of the shapeshifters’ shed.

“Maybe you ought to just shapeshift yourself some nicer hair,” Oona says.

Niall glares at her. Oona looks like she wants to cry.

The first period of the morning’s always the students helping out with chores and upkeep. Some of the parents had complained about it at first, saying they didn’t send their kids to school to do manual labour, but a cool look from Bressie ended that nonsense. A grassroots school like theirs needs all the help they can get, and it’s character-building, what have you, Niall guiding the little ones to help scrub the floors in the foyer while Bressie teaches some of the older kids how to fix the constantly faulty water heater.

At least, that’s the idea, but Colleen’s sulking and Oona’s miserable, and they’re a day away from Valentine’s Day, and Niall hopes they all manage to survive it without somehow going up in an emergency state of adolescent yearning.

“Oona,” he says, “can you give us a moment?” Oona’s shoulders slump and she turns into, literally, a slug, and crawls away.

“Alright, Oona’s gone now,” Niall says to the door. “Are you willing to come out and be useful?”

“ _Fine_ ,” Colleen says, opening the door, “but she better not come near me again.” 

When they rejoin the others in the foyer, Pierce is stressing out about Valentine’s cards and if this year he has to give one to everybody in his class again, which he doesn’t want to, that’s lame, but if he does, then maybe he can give one to Ms. Byrne too, the thought of which makes him go pale and shaky. “Do you think Ms. Byrne likes Minecraft?” Pierce asks, worrying his bottom lip.

“No, she’s a grownup,” Lorcan replies. “She likes—” he scrunches up his freckled face trying to think the most grownup thing possible, “—avocados.”

“What!” Pierce shrieks, hair bursting into flame. “How’m I gonna find a card with avocados!”

Bressie catches Niall’s eye on his way out of the boiler room and says, mildly, “It’d be nice if we could get some education in them too, sometime before they graduate.”

“We do our best,” Niall says. “No promises.”

Niall’s been alone the past two Valentine’s Days, tends to go dancing with his single friends in town, has a brilliant time no matter what. But he thinks of the last February 14th he spent when Louis was still earthside.

(“When I said I had to miss my high school deb cos I was terrified a cute girl would smile at me and I’d grow a horn on me head or summat,” Niall said, laughing when Louis pulled out his tux from his closet, “I didn’t mean I was still sad about it!”

“Little mouse,” Louis said, shoving the tux at Niall, “into every young man’s life there comes a moment when you need to step up to the plate, stammer as you ask your crush out, dance awkwardly in front of chaperones all night, and then get smashing pissed in an empty field.” He pinched Niall’s bum. “Without it, you could be stunted psychologically, and we can’t have that.”)

Which was how, at twenty-two years old, he’d let Louis pin a corsage onto him, rent a limo, and take him to a German cultural hall that Louis had booked for the night because they had cheap rates. Where Louis ordered them Nando’s, put on a Spotify playlist, and they locked their arms around each other’s necks and danced, just the two of them among the folded up tables and the photowall of the German national men’s football team.

(“This is the part,” Louis whispered into Niall’s ear, “where if we were still teenagers, I’d work up the nerve to slide my hands lower, like this.” 

“Mm,” Niall said, swaying into him. “This is the part where I’d have drunk so much before getting to the deb, that I’d let you.”

“Underage drinking?” Louis said. “Scandalous.”

“Irish.”

“As if I’d forget.”

“This is the part,” Niall said, “where I’d already be thinking of ways to lose my virginity to you in the loo.”)

Niall remembers how that night Louis had fucked him on the floor of the cultural hall, and in the loo, and then again in the limo on the way home, Louis sliding into him with a choked moan while Niall held onto him and bucked his hips, tasting the sweat on Louis’ throat. That was a good Valentine’s Day, he thinks. Ranks right up there with the Valentine’s Day Louis had dropped a heap of dirty laundry on Niall’s lap and said, “You don’t mind, do you? Thanks babe,” before wandering off to play video games with Harry.

Zayn’s watching telly in the cottage when Niall gets home after school. “You’re like my secret wife in the attic,” Niall says, pausing at the door. “In that book I forget about.”

“Jane Eyre,” Zayn says without tearing his eyes from his show. 

“That’s the ticket,” Niall says, kicking off his boots. “Knew you’d know.” There’s only the room for the one armchair in his living room, and Zayn’s occupying it, so he stretches out on the floor, massages the scar tissue around his robot knee. “Whatcha been up to all day? I brought you some biscuits, by the way. Afternoon snack.”

Zayn extends his palm. Niall stacks three biscuits on it, like a game of Jenga. “Oh, the usual,” Zayn says, while on the telly someone’s winning a trip to Mexico as part of a quiz show. “Woke up, went on Twitter, read a book, Instagram-stalked Perrie for a few hours,” he says. “She’s changed her hair again, y’know.”

“You’re sure they won’t trace your IP address?” Niall asks sharply. 

“They won’t,” Zayn promises. “Swear to god. If anyone looks, they’ll think I’m still in Jakarta.” 

“Okay,” Niall says, relaxing. “And uh, Perrie, eh.” He remembers how that particular relationship went pear-shaped the moment Zayn started hiding from the law. Perrie doesn’t like to talk about it much, and he don’t blame her.

Zayn makes a face. “I have a girlfriend, bro.” He levitates the biscuits from his palm and starts moving them around in the air. “She’s in Jakarta teaching English. Her name’s Gigi. She’s a telekinetic too, hid her powers so that the Americans wouldn’t conscript her. She’s — fucking amazing, if I’m gonna be honest.”

“So then why’re you stalking your ex?” Niall asks reasonably. “Don’t tell me you’re getting Valentine’s Day weepy. I deal with that all day with the kids, don’t need your arse moping around too.” 

“Whatever,” Zayn says, twirling around a biscuit in a loop-de-loop. “I’m happy with Gigi. Like, for real. But you know, I still miss her. Perrie.” He looks at Niall with a wry smile. “You know me. Can’t ever be satisfied with what I’ve got. Just — it gets lonely,” he says. “Gigi’s gonna go back to the U.S. someday, gonna want to go home, and I can’t — I can’t follow her there. Can’t go most places. Can’t see my family. Can’t see Perrie. Can’t see my mates.”

“I want to feel sorry for you,” Niall says with a gentle shrug, “but there was a choice and you made it.”

“I know that, fuck,” Zayn says, dropping the biscuits onto the floor. Niall goes “heeey” but Zayn hardly notices. “But if I’d stayed, finished out that last year and a half, it would’ve fucked me up even worse. Look at what it did to Harry.”

Niall says nothing. Thinks about the One Canada Square fight and how Harry had started drinking a lot more after, doing pills, staying out nights partying until his mate Nick had to call the flat, asking one of them to get him home. Or the nights when no one would call, and Harry would come crashing back at three in the morning, wild-eyed and jittery, and wake them all up with his nightmares. 

Niall picks up the biscuits from the floor, shoves them at Zayn again. Zayn takes them and stuffs one into his mouth. Chocolate chip, fresh from the oven. “Liam knew you’d go,” Niall confesses. “But he was worried you’d take Harry with you too.”

“I did ask,” Zayn says, chewing. “He said no.” He swallows. “No offense, but reckon he regretted it, after.”

Niall picks at one of his nails that’s starting to come off, a casualty of a particularly rowdy Beginners Powers class. “Yeah,” he says, “maybe.”

“But he’s getting better, ain’t he?” Zayn asks. “He actually came out to visit me last year. He said,” he thinks about it, brows coming together, “that he was getting help. I told him he better be, or I’d kick his arse.” He scarfs down another biscuit, and Niall can see his tongue move around his mouth as he chews. “Not sure that was the right thing to say, but I’m rubbish at that sort of thing.”

“You are,” Niall agrees, remembering how stiff-shouldered Zayn got whenever anyone dared to have an emotion in front of him. He remembers the fights Zayn and Louis used to have about the war, about what was right or wrong, and how flustered Zayn would get when Louis stormed out of the room. “And yeah, I think Harry’s doing a lot better,” he says. “Maybe, if he ain’t too busy with work, he can come visit while you’re here?” Niall grins. “Would be the most members of One Direction in the same room in ages.”

“That’d be cool,” Zayn says with a tentative smile. “Make it happen, Nialler.”

“Bippity boppity boo,” Niall says, typing out a carefully worded text so that no one who might be monitoring his phone will know what he means, but Harry will. “And there we are, sent.”

 

:::

 

Valentine’s Day comes and goes with minimal loss of limbs, which is nothing to take for granted when you’ve a school full of young, hormonally confused, temperamental mutants. Oona bakes Colleen a secret admirer cupcake and leaves it on her desk before Gaeilge. When Colleen sees it, according to Mr. O’Dowling, she turns bright red, and so does Oona. The cupcake gets smushed when Colleen tries to put it in her bookbag for later.

Pierce, not being able to obtain an avocado, gives everyone potatoes on Valentine’s Day. “They’re practically the same thing,” he decides.

Fifteen-year-old Devon reports seeing Ms. Byrne and Mr. Patel disappear into a supply closet during morning chores to look for an extra mop. They don’t come out for a long time. “That mop must’ve been extra hard to find,” he concludes, straight-faced, while Niall ruffles his hair and laughs. Bressie’s going to have to talk to Byrne and Patel about proper conduct at school, but it’s funny, he’s glad for those two nympho weirdos.

Zayn’s his Valentine’s date. They spend the evening watching Avatar: The Last Airbender streaming off Zayn’s laptop while Zayn tells him about working as a colourist for a Chinese children’s book company. 

“It’s, like, pretty boring,” he says. “I’m not even working on the actual books most of the time, I’m doing work for adverts and posters.” Niall nods, squinting at the screen and wondering if he needs reading glasses. “But it’s a steady paycheck. They send me the work every week and I send it back, done.” Zayn’s knees twitch. “My boss is a decent sort. ‘s been good to me. Says she wants to help me get into proper illustration.”

“Yeah?” Niall asks.

“Or, they’ve an animation studio in their sister company,” Zayn says, reaching for the popcorn Niall made and tossing some into his mouth. “They do jobs for some of the big names in the U.S.” He says it so offhandedly that Niall might think Zayn only mentioned it because they happened to be watching an animated show, and hey, isn’t that interesting, but Niall knows better, sees the want that sharpens Zayn’s eyes. 

“You’ll get there,” he says, stealing the popcorn bowl back. “You’re a brilliant artist, Zaynie, and you work so hard.”

“Says the bloke who’s basically Charles Xavier.”

“Nah,” Niall replies, “Bressie’s Prof X. I’m like his Jean Grey.”

"Does that make Louis Wolverine then?" Zayn says. "Faraway and pining."

It’s surprisingly easy living with Zayn, with the two of of them cooped up in this tiny cottage that’s barely meant for one. Niall’s always found Zayn sort of comfortably predictable and that’s not changed. Zayn’s got his rhythms and he sticks to them. After a couple of days of mulling around watching telly — “god, I miss BBC, never thought I’d say that” — he gets cracking on his projects. He sends in his colourist work to his boss, he works on his own art things — Niall goes into town and buys him a canvas and paints, Zayn slips the money into his pocket —, and he guest blogs for the anti-war site his sister Doniya runs.

He’s a considerate houseguest. Keeps things neat because he knows that’s how Niall likes it. Scrubs out the bathtub one afternoon, scrapes the sticky layer off the bottom of the oven the next. Doesn’t smoke when Niall’s at home because they need to keep the blinds drawn. Sprays Febreeze when he’s taken a big shit in the loo. 

The most surprising part, if you ask Niall, is that after a week Zayn hasn’t stepped foot out of the cottage once, and hasn’t gone stir-crazy for it. Niall certainly would’ve, but Zayn seems to cope with it, quiet and more patient than Niall remembers him being. He keeps himself occupied and unobtrusive, when back in One Direction sometimes it felt like even that giant flat they’d shared wasn’t enough space for all five of them and their egos. Maybe in this way they’re all growing up, Niall thinks, becoming the sort of people that only ever existed before as an idea, as potential.

Even when things go badly.

“What’s wrong, man?” Zayn asks when Niall comes in one afternoon and reaches immediately for the whiskey on the top shelf.

“Letter came in the mail today,” Niall says. “For Mai Ngo. She’s seventeen. Turning eighteen in May.”

“Shit,” Zayn says, putting down his paints. “X-Factor.”

“It’s not like we didn’t know this would happen,” Niall says. “Not like the draft law’s changed. But I thought—” he fumbles for a glass, “I honestly thought we’d have more time.” He thinks of Mai, studious and fierce, a bit like Zayn actually, dark eyes and heart bigger than her own words can say. He thinks of how she’d come to him with that letter after first period and handed it over like the head of John the Baptist on a platter.

It’s worse in Ireland, he thinks. At least in England mutants can report to X-Factor any time between they’re eighteen and twenty-one. X-Factor in Ireland is eighteen, no question about it, police knocking on your door if you don’t register for the show. Niall went when he turned eighteen, and now Mai will too. His head hurts. His teeth feel like they’re ringing down to the roots.

If he’s waiting for Zayn to tell him it’ll be fine, a whole generation of Irish mutants have gone through X-Factor, been given wartime assignments and turned out fine — look at Niall for fuck’s sake, Niall’s happy and well-adjusted and an actual role model for kids, and he’d have none of that without X-Factor, without One Direction and the life he squeezed out of it. If he’s waiting for Zayn to say any of that, he’s waiting for the wrong person. 

“You said Mai’s got siblings, right?” Zayn says instead. “They live at the school together?”

“Yeah, Thuan and Vicky,” Niall says, pouring out the whiskey. He offers some to Zayn, but Zayn shakes his head.

“How’re they taking it?”

“Not good,” Niall says slowly. “Vicky’s been throwing tantrums all afternoon. Thuan’s quiet, but he’s a quiet kid. Won’t talk to his friends.” He throws back a shot of whiskey. “I dunno what to say to them, for when Mai’s gone.” He runs a finger over the rim of the glass. “I dunno why we didn’t plan for this sooner, we all knew it was coming.”

“Can’t plan for everything,” Zayn says. “You wanna watch more Avatar tonight? We’re getting to some of the best episodes.” His eyes are on Niall, thoughtful.

Niall shakes his head. “Can’t,” he croaks. “Dinner with the family tonight.”

“Don’t take your car if you’re gonna start drinking,” Zayn says sharply. “Even if you’re alright for it now, you won’t be at the end of the night.”

“Bobby’ll come pick me up,” Niall says, eyeing his whiskey. He finishes it and rings Bobby up. His da’s sympathetic, of course, says he’ll be on his way from town and that Denise’s already got the casserole in the oven and it smells bloody amazing. When he hangs up, Niall releases a breath. “Wish Bobby could meet you,” he says to Zayn. “Wish you could join us. Hate thinking of you spending the evening alone.”

“Well, you told me pretty clearly.” Zayn says, “It was my choice, wasn’t it?” He smiles crookedly at Niall and nudges his shoulder. “Carry on, then. Worry about Mai in the morning.”

There’s an email from Louis on his phone when he’s in the car with Bobby, driving to Mullingar. Niall’s skin buzzes when he sees it. He opens it right away even though Bobby’s telling him about the latest fixes he’s been making to the house and how they’re driving him mad, none of the contractors been doing things right, he might as well do it himself. “Sorry,” Niall mouths, but Bobby shrugs.

“Do what you need to do,” he says. “I’ve met your boy. He’d be a right terror if he knew I made you wait for him.”

It’s a drunk email. Louis makes that clear right off the bat, boasting about how many shots he’s had with Liam and the rest of the soldiers after a fight that nearly took out the base. Niall can’t help but smile when he sees how sloppy the letter is, feels his own scratchy burn of whiskey at the bottom of his belly.

 _Thinking of all the things I’m gonna do to you when we’re married_ , Louis writes, although with vastly more spelling errors. _Gonna rub your feet, gonna build you a house, gonna buy you a pony (you want a pony, right? Everybody wants a pony). Gonna make you walk around barefoot and naked all the time. Gonna fetch you a beer. Gonna start a family with you. So don’t go falling in love with some other bloke, don’t you know I’m a hardened soldier now, I’ll fuck up any competition, I’ll claw out their eyes_.

Niall makes a sound that’s like a laugh, but also a hopeless wheeze. Bobby looks over at him, hands steady on the wheel. “Not bad news, is it?”

“No,” Niall says. “Could’ve been, but wasn’t.” Louis’ signed off the email, _27 days left_ , and Niall misses him so much that his eyes water with it, wishes he had Louis with him right now, not twenty-seven days in the future, as short a wait as that is. 

His family can tell his mind’s elsewhere during dinner, and they don’t pry too much, knows him well enough to leave it well alone. Niall helps Denise finish cooking the casserole and the veggies, and plays cards against Theo and Greg. When he’s so full his belly’s a hard lump beneath his shirt, he packs up some leftovers in a plastic container for Zayn. “You want some of these pork cracklings too?” Denise asks, but Niall shakes his head. Bobby drives him back to the school with the radio on low, and Niall listens to him hum the entire way.

“Tell Louis I said hello,” Bobby says, leaning over the passenger seat when Niall climbs out. “Tell him we’re waiting for him to come home.”

“I will. Thanks, Da,” Niall says, and waves goodbye as Bobby backs out of the driveway, headlights sweeping the gravel road.

Zayn’s already in bed when Niall gets in, already asleep. Niall puts the leftovers in the fridge and climbs in beside him, fully dressed, no energy to do anything else. His phone vibrates with a text from Bressie that says simply, _Need to talk about the Ngo siblings, what to do_. Niall will answer it later. He inhales. The pillow smells like Zayn’s hair products, and Niall breathes it in, listening to the sound of Zayn’s breathing. He watches Zayn’s chest rise up and down, the way Zayn’s eyelashes flicker with the tremulous shape of his dreams. 

He can’t sleep that night, can’t spin out any dreams of his own. It’s for the better, probably. He doubts his dreams would be any good. He watches Zayn instead, and takes his hand when he feels the most alone. Zayn wakes up with a gasp, eyes wide, fingers clenching. When he sees Niall he relaxes. “Sorry,” Niall breathes, “didn’t mean to wake you.”

“S’alright,” Zayn says, and goes back to sleep holding Niall’s hand, a warm, dry weight that anchors him until morning.

 

:::

 

“They can come here,” Niall says, pouring out the instant coffee. “I don’t mind.”

Zayn looks up from his book. “You sure?” he asks. “It won’t — be bad for the school?”

“I’d rather you here, where it’s quiet,” Niall says, “than in Mullingar where anybody could see.” He shrugs. “I mean, it’s up to you. If you wanna get out of here, get some fresh air, I don’t blame you.”

“No,” Zayn says slowly, “I agree. It’s safer if they come to the school.”

“It’s Saturday, so no classes,” Niall says. “I could pick up your mum and sisters in town when their train gets in. Even less chance that someone’ll notice and talk.”

“I owe you one, bro,” Zayn says, ducking his head with a rueful smile that means he knows he owes Niall way more than one of anything. Niall doesn’t care, though. Niall likes having Zayn for company, is tired of carrying that old anger around, wants somewhere to set it down and let it rest. It’s not forgiveness, not quite. Niall’s not sure he’ll ever completely forgive Zayn for leaving when they needed him the most. But what he feels is more complicated than forgiveness, he reckons, because forgiveness can be given or taken away with a word, it’s a number on a slide ruler, but loving someone is something you work for every day, wake up each morning ready to put in the labour.

If Niall chauffeuring his family around works out better for Zayn, then that’s what he’ll spend his Saturday doing. At the train station he leans against a railing with his hands in his pockets, waiting. Then he sees them. Impossible to miss, really, even though he’s never met them before since none of them were allowed to visit their family during their four years of the draft. It was only after that he was able to meet Louis’ mum and siblings, that he was allowed to take Louis home. He’s never met Zayn’s folks at all. But those are clearly the Maliks, and Niall peels himself away from the railing to say hello.

“The famous Niall, at long last,” Trisha says with a smile.

“Stop it, Mum, don’t be so embarrassing,” Waliyha says. “Hi Niall, thanks for picking us up. Got room in your boot for all of Safaa’s bags?”

“There’s only five!” Safaa scowls. “And, like, two of them are purses. You want to make it convincing, don’t you? That we’re running around Ireland on a family vacation.”

“Shhh,” Doniya says, glancing up from her phone where she’s furiously typing, “your voices are so loud.” She sticks her phone into the pocket of her jeans and extends a hand, speaking in a low murmur. “Great to meet you. I’m Doniya, this is Waliyha, Safaa, and our mum Trisha.”

“I know,” Niall says. “Seen enough photos of you from—” he looks around. “Well, you know who,” he finishes. 

“Let’s not linger,” Doniya says. “Don’t want anyone getting pictures of us together, might be obvious.” 

Niall looks at her. He’s not met her in person before, or even really spoken to her, but Doniya’s the one he feels he knows best. She’s a well-known activist among certain circles, runs a site protesting the war against the Uninvited that pulls thousands of hits a day, and he remembers. Remembers seeing her interviewed the day after Zayn disappeared, watching on telly as the reporters pulled her from her classes at Cambridge and stuck a mic at her, asking what she felt about her brother’s desertion from the well-known superhero squad One Direction, if she knew what his plans were now that he was on the lam.

(He remembers: 

“I’d rather have my brother desert his post than to have the war break him,” Doniya said, shoving the mic from her face. “He didn’t sign up to fight. They _made_ him. Just because he’s a mutant. They’ve been using him and all other mutants as weapons, the sort you throw away when they break.”

Niall, curled up on the sofa with the din of the telly in the background, rubbed his eyes. “Lou,” he said hoarsely, looking up, “is that Zayn’s sister?”

Louis’ jaw clenched.

“Do you see the stats?” Doniya on the telly asked angrily. “Do you see all the soldiers coming back from the war who need help that our government’s not giving them?”

“What about all the Uninvited superbug attacks?” one of the press shouted. “Don’t we _need_ people to fight them?”

“The war’s been going on for thirteen years,” Doniya snapped. “Here’s an idea for how to stop the superbug attacks: make peace. What are we even fighting over? Does anybody remember?” She shoved the reporters aside. “Now excuse me, I’ve got classes to go to.”

Louis stared at the telly, while Niall stared at Louis, and then Louis got up and walked out of the room).

At the cottage, after Niall ushers them inside, Doniya’s the first one to stride over and pull Zayn into a hug. His fingers clench against the the back of her wool coat, and he meets Niall’s gaze over her shoulder. He looks lost, suddenly, like he’s not sure what to do next. Like it hurts to want something, and it hurts all the same to have it. Doniya whispers something in Zayn’s ear, and Zayn sags. “I know,” he says. He looks over. “Hi Mum. Thanks for coming.”

“Zain Javadd Malik,” Trisha says, “come here.” Zayn walks into her arms. Waliyha starts sniffling. She puts her hand tentatively on Zayn’s shoulder, not sure if she’s allowed to touch, while Safaa hovers anxiously beside her. They haven’t seen him since before he was drafted, Niall realizes. Safaa would’ve been nine when he went on X-Factor. She’s fifteen now.

Zayn’s still got that lost look on his face, but he pulls away from his mum and turns to Waliyha, to Safaa. “Hey brats, do you still have the Halloween costumes I made for you?” he croaks, and Safaa bursts into tears.

“Zayn!” she wails. “I accidentally shrank it in the wash, I’m so, so sorry!”

Trisha starts laughing. Doniya snickers. Zayn’s mouth flaps open and shut, and he’s stammering, “um, well, don’t cry, I can always make you another one, it’s not, like, that hard,” while Niall slips away easily. No one’s paying him any attention. He steps out and closes the door behind him.

 

:::

 

While he’s walking to the main building, he sees the sparrow circling above his head. Niall takes on hawk-form and joins her. They loop the grounds aimlessly for an hour, taking turns dive-bombing and showing off for each other before the sparrow vanishes into one of the sheds. When Mai comes out in her coat and scarf, hands stuffed into her pockets like she’s confused what to do with them now that they’re not wings, Niall takes his turn. “Hungry?” he asks as he emerges rolling up his sleeves.

“Reckon so,” she says.

In the dining hall it’s Niall, Bressie, Mrs. Kavanagh, Ms. Ivers, Mr. Patel — the staff who live on premises — and the boarders. Mrs. Kavanagh spoons generous dollops of beef stew into everyone’s bowls and sends them off to the table with flat slabs of soda bread. Vicky eats so much of it that she throws up into her stew.

“Oh dear,” says Mrs. Kavanagh, reaching over automatically with a tissue to wipe her mouth. Vicky screams.

Mai shoots up immediately. “Stop that!” she says. 

“I won’t!” Vicky shouts. “I won’t stop, I won’t stop, I _don’t wanna stop_!” She tries to bite Mai when her sister comes over, and Mai rears her hand back with a shocked look. Her eyes darken, and Niall’s got a bad feeling. Mai’s a girl of few words but she’s got a temper as fierce as anybody, and so has Vicky. Thuan looks between his sisters and hunches his shoulders.

“Oi, none of that now,” Niall interrupts. “Vicky—”

“You’re just gonna leave!” Vicky yells at Mai, while the ground beneath her feet starts to freeze over with a layer of ice. “When you’re gone, I can do anything I wanna do! You can’t stop me!”

It takes a while for them to bring her down. It’s Bressie who does it, mostly, because Vicky adores Bressie. He’s the only one she’ll behave for, and it’s Bressie who scoops her into his arms and carries her off to get her face washed and gargle some water. Thuan is pale. Mai sits back down and finishes her stew in cold silence, though there’s a stricken look to her eyes. 

“Fancy another turn around the skies with your favourite teacher?” Niall asks, nudging her foot beneath the table. He forces a smile when she glances up.

“No,” she says, “I think I’m gonna go to bed.” She looks at Thuan and bites her lip. Thuan refuses to look back.

“What about you, kiddo?” he asks Thuan. “Gonna practice your footie moves for our next match?”

“No,” Thuan says.

Well then. Niall helps Mrs. Kavanagh wash up after dinner, and Bressie joins them in the kitchen, looking tired. “Vicky’s watching telly now,” he says. “Hopefully that’ll keep her occupied until bedtime. I’ll check on her again in a bit.” He takes a plate Mrs. Kavanagh hands him and starts drying it. “The rec room’s gonna be a winter wonderland by the time Vicky calms down,” he adds wryly. “She’s already frozen my hands twice.”

“Poor baby,” Niall says. He pauses. “Y’know, they might not give Mai an assignment or put her on a squad. During X-Factor, I mean. If they don’t think her powers are strong enough to be of use—” But it’s nonsense, he knows it even as he says it. Mai’s a better shapeshifter than he was at that age, and the war’s been going on for so long, military brass are getting desperate for new mutants to fill out the ranks. People are dying in space, on earth, faster than their posts can be filled.

If they’d thought earlier to have Mai hide her powers — but that doesn’t make sense either. Even if Mai managed to hide her powers, she’s not the only student at the school. Next year Ashleigh and Tim will be called to X-Factor, and then Rowan. For the first time Niall wonders at the wisdom of running a school full of mutants that everybody knows about. He rubs his face with the backs of his knuckles.

When they finish helping Mrs. Kavanagh, he and Bressie walk to Bressie’s office, talking. Niall’s always loved Bressie’s headmaster’s office. It’s cluttered and hectic, which ordinarily Niall wouldn’t like, but it’s cluttered in a way that Bressie’s life is cluttered: with photos of their students, with gifts the kids have made for him in art class, with his album covers mounted on the walls, with his military medals, with the couch that has an indent of the exact shape of Bressie’s body from where he’s worked through nights and passed out here instead of making the trip back to his rooms in the east wing.

Niall shoves over some of the blankets on the couch and sits down. “‘m thinking,” he says. “Do we _want_ to broadcast X-Factor at the school? I know we’ve done it in the past, it’s a good chance for the kids to see mutants like them, but—” He shrugs. “Might not be a good idea this year.”

“Hm,” Bressie says. “If we don’t show it on the telly, won’t the kids just go home and watch it anyway?”

“Not Thuan and Vicky,” Niall points out. “We could take away the telly in the rec room.” He worries a frayed thread on his jeans. “Not that I think that’s a good idea either. Fuck.” He tips his head back. “Thuan’ll find a way. He’s got a phone, hasn’t he? Which, by the way how did _that_ happen?”

“Blame my aunt,” Bressie says. “She was so taken with him over the summer, she would’ve bought him the moon if it had a price tag on it.” He rubs his nose bridge. “Speaking of,” he says. “What’s Doniya Malik doing here?”

Niall grows still.

Bressie’s smile is amused. “Don’t worry, chief,” he says. “Was just good timing. I was looking out the window, being all broody, when you pulled up in your car. Don’t reckon anyone else saw.” His face grows sober. “You gotta be careful.”

“Brez—”

“I won’t ask what they’re doing here,” Bressie says. “Just like I won’t ask who that mysterious shadow I’ve seen lately in the windows of your cottage is.” Niall bites his bottom lip between his teeth. “As long as your business doesn’t hurt the kids, you do your own thing. You know I’ve never stopped you.”

“I’d never let it affect the kids,” Niall promises roughly. “You gotta know that. I’d take a bullet for any of them. I’d walk over knives for them. I’d go up into space and fight an Uninvited army singlehandedly for them. Fuck,” he says again, closing his eyes. “‘m sorry. If I made you worry.”

“I always worry,” Bressie replies, shuffling through papers on his desk. “Sort of my job, innit? I’m the anxious one and you’re the charmer.” He scratches his nose. “Know what it’s like,” he says quietly. “Did two tours in space, didn’t I? You go through fire with your team. You don’t leave them behind.”

These are some random facts that Niall Horan knows about Niall Breslin: that he plays guitar late at night in his office to help him think, that he’s the last to go to bed and the first to rise, getting up every morning to run the country roads. That he’s a bad public speaker but a surprisingly brilliant administrator, that he was engaged to someone he met while stationed in space and then she died in an attack, and he’s carried the grief with him ever since. That he’s the best man Niall knows. 

Bressie’s phone vibrates on his desk. They both startle at the sound. When Niall glances down he can’t help but smirk, because the name that flashes on the screen is Roz. 

(This is what he remembers:

“So who’s that waving at you over there?” Niall asked at the bar a couple of weeks ago, having managed to wheedle Bressie away from his duties for once. “Look, she’s smiling at you. Looks like she wants to eat you up, big man.”

“Oh my god,” Bressie said. “I think I’m gonna throw up. I don’t know what to do with women. I’m rubbish with women. Out of practice since—” he grimaces.

“I think this one might not mind,” Niall said).

“Go answer it, ladykiller,” Niall says, while Bressie stares at his phone, face red. Niall gets up and shimmies out of the office.

He kills time by finishing some small errands around the school, catching up with work he’s let lag behind. He doesn’t generally make a practice of going to the girls’ dorm after dark, but he checks in on Thuan, who’s asleep in his bed. When it’s finally so late that he really does need to go back to his cottage, he knocks gently on the door. “It’s me,” he calls out.

The Maliks have clearly already left; Zayn’s the only one inside. “They could’ve stayed the night,” Niall says, surprised. “I mean, I would’ve just needed to come and grab my stuff, but I could’ve slept over at the school.”

“Your place’s fucking tiny,” Zayn says. “Where would they’ve slept? In your cupboards?” He’s smoking, but Niall doesn’t have the heart to ask him to put it out. “S’alright anyway,” he says. “They’re flying back to England tomorrow.”

Niall nods. He heads into the loo to take a piss and change. When he comes out, balling his hands against his mouth to swallow his yawn, Zayn’s stubbing out his fag and standing up to stretch. His spine cracks with a pop, pop, pop. He crawls into bed beside Niall and spreads out his limbs like a spider. 

“Safaa’s a mutant,” Zayn says.

Niall turns over.

“She’s a technopath,” Zayn says. “She’s the one who’s been helping me mask my IP address. Doniya wanted her to hide it, but — there was an accident. Her teachers know.”

“Yeah?” Niall asks.

“Yeah,” Zayn says. “It’s not great.”

 

::::

 

Sometimes you can carry all sorts of worries with you until they jumble up in your brain and you’re not sure which one to think about first, like untangling a skein of yarn with no beginning or end, and sometimes what you really want, more than anything, is a good wank.

Zayn’s kind of a damper in that regard. Can hardly wank one out while he’s always in the cottage, can he, and Niall refuses to jerk it off in the school. He’s not that depraved. Usually he manages to squeeze in a wank while he’s in the shower, but the water heater in the cottage is pretty fucking terrible, and if he stays too long he’ll use up all the hot water for Zayn. His wanks are frantic, rough, and over all too soon.

He writes a Louis a long, sexually frustrated email. It’s easier than writing to Louis about some of the other things on his mind. He’ll send that email too, later, with maybe some of the details edited out because he’s positive Louis’ email is monitored. He won’t mention Zayn directly, that’s for certain. But he can drop hints, and usually Louis will understand. Louis knows him so well.

But he wants to first send something that’ll put a smile on Louis’ face, because Louis has his own shit to deal with, what with the whole risking his life every day business he’s got going on. And Niall may not have the answers to most of his problems — or any of them, really — but there’s one thing he can do, and that’s make Louis happy. 

_Miss your fingers so so much_ , he types into his laptop, while Zayn’s sprawled out on the floor doodling in his sketchbook. _Miss playing with them, sucking on them. Miss having them in me. God, you’re so fucking good at that, always know how to make me scream. Miss grinding down on your fingers, riding them, how amazing they feel spreading me open, how they get me ready to take your cock._

Zayn sneezes. Niall continues writing.

 _Had a dream last night. We were in bed. You were on your belly and I was behind you, clutching your hips, fucking into you. I like that too, almost as much as I like you fucking me_. Niall pauses, clears his throat. Zayn gives him a weird look. _You were groaning while I fucked you, making so much noise, I couldn’t think straight. Aliens could’ve crashed into our bedroom right then and I’d have kept on pounding your arse. Squeezing tight and lovely around me, making me go wild with it_.

“You alright, dude?” Zayn asks. “Your face is really red.”

“I’m fine,” Niall squeaks. With shaky fingers, he types out, _25 days. Love you, Lou. Love you always_ , and hits send.

“What’s that?” he asks a moment later, hearing the crunch of tires pulling up outside. Zayn looks worried and gets up on his knees. They hear the slam of a car door and then a series of loud knocks. Zayn tenses, body vibrating with fight-or-flight, but he and Niall exchange looks that flatten out into exasperated affection when they hear Harry’s voice.

“Heyyyy,” Harry says, slipping into the cottage quickly after Niall gets the door. Niall peers out into the darkness for a second, wondering if this is how Bressie glimpsed the Maliks, but he doesn’t have time to worry about that because Harry’s nudging the door shut with his hip and dropping his bags. “I’m here! Are you surprised?” he says.

“You fucking twat, you could’ve given us a ring first,” Zayn says. “Scared us, didn’t you.”

“Oh,” Harry says. “Maybe. Yeah. That might’ve been a good idea.” He looks guilty, but then he sees their reluctant smiles, and he flashes one of his own. “Wanted to keep a low profile, though. Also,” he says, “wanted to see the look on your faces.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Niall says, kicking him in the shins. “Good to see you again, Haz, you posh superstar, you.”

“Not a superstar,” Harry corrects primly. “Only a small-time actor on a small-time soap.” But he’s smiling from ear to ear, and Niall’s only so strong after all. He jumps onto Harry and tackles him to the ground where Harry shrieks with fake outrage, limbs flying everywhere, and they roll around on the floor while Zayn watches them. 

“What’re you waiting for, an invitation?” Niall rolls his eyes, and Zayn lets out a breath. Topples onto them. Harry immediately wraps him into a hug and buries his face into the crook of Zayn’s shoulder. 

“My boys,” Harry croons. “My beautiful, smelly boys.”

“Didn’t know if you could get time off work,” Niall confesses once they’ve straightened themselves up, and Zayn’s sprawled in the chair while Harry’s sitting with his bum perched on the armrest. Harry keeps playing with Zayn’s hair, and Zayn looks like he very badly wants to play with Harry’s but doesn’t know if he’s allowed. Niall snorts at the two of them.

“Wasn’t sure either,” Harry says, “but turns out the writers don’t need me for the next few episodes. My character’s in a coma or summat. Can hardly keep it straight.”

Niall laughs because he loves hearing Harry’s actor stories. Harry’s the only one of them who’s stayed in the spotlight after One Direction disbanded, and he has all the best stories, of being a regular on an American soap, of getting offers for other projects in his spare time, of going to industry parties and fashion shows, of getting papped having dinner with supermodel friends.

“Oh yeah, that reminds me,” Harry says, “I’m pretending to be in Bali right now. Got an old photo lined up for Instagram. Lemme post it.” His fingers fly over his phone.

Niall’s memories of Harry during the last year of One Direction are bad ones. He thinks of the attack in One Canada Square, and people dying in Harry’s arms before he could save them. He thinks of the nightmares that had Harry waking up screaming each night. He thinks of the blankness of Harry’s face in the mornings, and then all the drugs and pills and him, Louis, and Liam sitting at a kitchen table, pleading with him to try rehab.

Harry must know what he’s thinking because he smiles gently, runs a knuckle down Niall’s cheek. “Been good,” he says. “Staying on the straight and narrow. Still seeing that therapist Liam found for me. Still taking my meds. Still working shit out.”

“Good,” Niall breathes, “and, uh, like, I know I saw you just last year, but you look better every time I see ya. California sun’s really doing wonders for your tan.”

“Thanks, mate!” Harry says. “I’d return the favour, but y’know, you look the exact same as last time.”

“Knobby-kneed, spotty, and Irish?” Zayn says. “Sounds about right.”

“Oi!” Niall says. “Remember whose house you’re in right now. After all I’ve done for you!” But he’s cackling, happiness rising up to the top of his chest like the head on a freshly poured beer. 

None of them sleep at all that night, and it’s a bad idea because Niall’s got classes to teach in the morning, but he don’t care. They stay up for hours, the three of them, shooting the craic, catching each other up on their lives. Niall reads some of Louis’ more g-rated emails so they know what he’s up to, and he reads some that Liam’s sent him too. Harry and Liam write each other regularly as well, it seems like, so Harry brings out the full treasury of his Liam emails. It’s a gift since when he reads them out loud he can nail Liam’s voice better than Niall ever could, reads them all in a tone of confused wonder, even the ones where Liam’s talking about his rock collection.

Loads of Louis and Liam’s emails are them complaining about each other, and it’s hilarious. Louis’ a control freak with a bad attitude and wanks too much in shared spaces, Liam complains. Liam’s a precious, oblivious unicorn who can’t take a joke or show up anywhere on time, Louis says.

When they’ve exhausted their Louis and Liam emails — there aren’t actually that many of them, the soldiers stationed in space aren’t allowed computer access very often, a problem that’s been gutting Niall for years —, Harry wriggles around until he somehow manages to unearth a Monopoly box that’s been living underneath Niall’s telly. 

“Can I take this to the school tomorrow?” he asks, blowing the dust off the cover, making Zayn sneeze. “I’m going with you, right? To meet the kids.”

“Sure,” Niall says, lounging sleepily on the floor. “Knock yourself out.” Something occurs to him and his eyes widen. “Christ, Harry Styles in a school full of thirsty teenagers. This is gonna be good.”

 

:::

 

Harry inadvertently starts the first Monopoly bloodbath at Westmeath Special Academy, starting with the students flocking around him, giggling because he’s someone they’ve seen on the telly before and now he’s here among them in all his Saint Laurent glory, like a new, exotic, slightly uncoordinated bird of paradise. “I’ve been on telly too,” Niall points. “You said you watched an interview of mine at your mum’s, Oona.”

“That don’t count,” she says. “That was when I was, like, ten.”

“Ouch,” says Niall. 

“And Harry was always my favourite member of One Direction,” she says. “Obviously.”

“Colleen,” Niall says sweetly, “who’s your favourite member of One Direction? Remember those pictures I showed you?” Colleen glances over at them, which makes Oona go immediately tongue-tied.

“Louis,” Colleen says, blinking. “I think Louis is the cutest.”

“I’ll take that answer,” Niall says. “Louis _is_ the cutest. And don’t get sucked into that Monopoly game,” he warns. “Lorcan is there, isn’t he, and that never ends well.”

It doesn’t end well. Lorcan, ten years old, telepathic, and so competitive Bressie always has to sit him aside during school footie matches and give him a good talking to, subscribes to a version of Monopoly strategy that can most generously be summarized as “being a dick.” “I read this on the internet,” he says whilst buying up all the houses and leaving the other players spinning.

“Who let you have access to the internet,” Mai mutters. “You’re a _fetus_.”

Niall’d told Harry about Mai while walking over to the school, and Harry makes an extra effort to say hello to her, insists that if they’re going to play Monopoly on teams — “and trust me, we ought to play on teams, it’s the most fun that way,” he says —, he calls dibs on Mai. Loads of the other girls are heartbroken, but it makes Mai offer up a rare smile. She sits beside Harry in the dining hall and instructs him on their next moves, though all are ultimately futile in the face of Lorcan’s mind-reading strategies. 

“Who’s your partner even, Lorcan?” Mai asks.

“Uh,” Lorcan says, casting around. “It’s Vicky! C’mere, Vicky!” He whistles for her, but Vicky throws a blast of snow at his head.

“Come and sit by me instead, Vicky?” Mai asks. Vicky’s face scrunches up, like she’s not sure this is a good idea, but she trudges over. Mai smiles again and pulls Vicky onto her lap. “Look, me and Harry own Boardwalk,” she points. “Your favourite colour.” 

After a few more turns Harry makes the executive decision to put a halt to Monopoly; the students have to get to their next class, and also there is no noble end to the game now that Lorcan’s begun his rampage. 

Niall catches Mai as she walks Vicky to class. He watches as she waves her sister off and then he falls into step beside her, says: “Mr. Breslin and I were thinking. X-Factor starts June 5th, and we’ll drive you, Vicky, and Thuan down to London the Friday before, make a weekend vacation out of it. You three’ve never seen London before right?” He gives her a crooked smile. “I could show you all my old haunts. Maybe we can have lunch with Adele. Did I ever tell you that I know Adele?”

“Whatever,” Mai says. “You’ll take care of them after I’m gone, right? You won’t kick them out of the school or anything?”

“ _Of course_ we’ll take care of them,” Niall says. “Is that what you’ve been worrying about? That we wouldn’t—?”

Mai shrugs.

“Jesus,” Niall says, “we love you guys. ‘m pretty sure Bressie would adopt Thuan and Vicky if you asked him to.” He puts a hand on Mai’s shoulder and squeezes. “They’ll lack for nothing while you’re gone, cross my heart.”

“What the the hell did you get up to today?” Zayn asks after school, when Niall and Harry return to the cottage. “I could hear the shrieks all the way over here. No one died, did they?”

“Only Harry’s board game pride,” Niall says, kicking off his boots. Harry sets Monopoly down sheepishly. “Stay over for dinner, will ya?” he says before Harry can think to go back to his hotel for the night. The hotel thing rankles Niall a bit, as his mam taught him to be a proper host, but his bed’s already pretty crowded with two and there’s nowhere else for Harry to fold his lanky body unless he wants to sleep on the floor. Still, no rush to tuck in for the night. “We can order in,” he adds. “Got a craving for pizza.”

“Won’t they think it’s strange,” Zayn asks, “that you and Harry are eating in by yourselves? Not with, like, the rest of them up at the school?”

“Nah,” Niall replies, “probably they just think we’re shagging. What, sick of us already?”

“Didn’t say that,” Zayn mutters. “Just — you don’t got to stay in if you don’t want to.”

“Hey Haz,” Niall says.

“Yeah?” Harry’s wandered into the kitchen. 

“Got any big plans tonight? Any other long lost friends in town for you to visit?”

“Hmm, lemme think about it,” Harry says while Zayn gives them both the finger. 

“Fine,” Zayn says, “let’s get some pizza.”

It’s a comfortable night in. Niall makes a run into town for pizza, and when he gets back Zayn is watching Criminal Minds on his laptop while Harry lies on his belly on the ground and catches up on his tweets. “Hooray, pizza!” Harry cheers when Niall gets in, shaking the hair from his eyes. They end up sitting cross-legged on the floor to eat the pizza, and Niall has a memory so physical that it disorients him: of them doing this before, in London, easy nights in with nothing else to do but wait for the next fight to start.

He writes another email to Louis, fingers grainy with crust. Even if Louis won’t see it until the next time he’s allowed to log on, he knows it pleases Louis to see two, three, four emails from Niall at once. He double-checks his calendar too — they’ve a vidchat coming up later in the week, one of their five allotted vidchats per year. He’s terrified he’ll get the time wrong and miss it. He makes Harry and Zayn enter it into their calendars too.

“It’s the last one, right?” Harry says, going along with Niall’s paranoia. “Before Louis comes home.”

“Twenty-four days,” Niall says softly. 

“Aw, your face,” Harry says. 

“I miss him so much,” Niall says, burying his head in his hands with a groan. “Can’t even describe it. ‘m thinking about him all the time, wondering if he’s thinking about me too, wondering if he misses me even half as much as I miss him.”

“I don’t think you’ve anything to worry about there,” Harry says. “Louis’ mad for you, it’s ridiculous.” 

“It kind of is, mate, from what I remember,” Zayn says. “Makes the rest of us a bit sick, really.”

“Twenty-four days,” Niall repeats, scrubbing at his face. “Ah, look at me being a soppy shit. What do I have to complain about, anyway? I ought to do something useful, like,” he looks at the stack of papers on the coffee table, “finish up those grant applications I keep promising Bressie.” The thought doesn’t particularly excite him. The school needs more money, though, always does.

“We’ll help,” Zayn says. He grabs the closest form and adopts a plummy tone. “ _To whom it may concern_ ,” he says, “ _we’ve a school of adorable moppet mutant children with Irish accents run by equally adorable moppet mutant teachers. Empty your fucking pockets_.”

Niall grabs the paper from him, laughing. “Give that back,” he says, “and I’ll put you to work properly.”

 

:::

 

There are still people willing to pay to have a former member of One Direction show up at their party, event, fundraiser, fill in the blank with whatever. It’s not Niall’s favourite thing, never was even in the heyday of their military service when he had his lads with him, but it’s good money for the school. He’s got a party to attend in Dublin, the son of a real estate magnate turning eighteen, if he remembers correctly, and Daddy’s going all out, no expenses spared. 

Harry comes with. “Why not?” he says. “Loads of rich people at the party, right? We’ll talk them up and get them to write you fat juicy checks.”

Niall stops packing, throws a look over his shoulder. “You alright being by yourself this weekend, Zayn?”

“Alright with it?” Zayn says. “I’m fucking over the moon. Peace at last from you tossers.” He leans against the doorway to the bedroom. “Nah, not that tie. Bring the purple one. Looks good on you.” 

“What about me?” Harry asks, bouncing around on the bed. “What should I wear?”

“Don’t care,” Zayn says breezily. “Everything you wear is an embarrassment to anyone who’s ever so much as sat on a bus seat next to you.”

Harry scoffs. “Why’re you still here, mate? Your family’s already come and gone.” He means for it to be a joke but once dangling in the air it manages to change shape and warp into a totally legitimate question, judging by the way Zayn’s face shifts. Niall’s hands slow as he folds a shirt into his holdall because he’s been curious too, even if he hasn’t wanted to come right out and ask.

Zayn shrugs. “I’m here to see you, aren’t I? Didn’t know if you were gonna make it, but.” He casts his gaze to the side, and then upwards towards the ceiling as if he’s searching for answers there. “Maybe I’ll stay long enough to see Payno and Tommo too. If Niall don't chuck me out before then.”

“Oh,” Harry says. He chews his lip and beams. Niall ducks his head and pretends to focus very hard on packing so that Zayn won’t see his stupid, glowing face.

“You know Louis’ still furious with you,” Niall does say, not to ruin the moment but because Zayn ought to know. 

“Figured,” Zayn says. “Well, whatever. Reckon he might be owed a punch or two, as long as he knows I’ll give back as good as I get.”

“You can’t punch Louis,” Harry says immediately, “cos then Niall will try to fight you, and look at this face.” He grabs Niall by the cheeks and smushes them between his palms. “Why would you ever want to hurt this face that’s so precious to us?”

The next afternoon he and Harry drive to Mullingar, drop the car off at Bobby’s, and take the train into Dublin. Niall works on more grant applications en route and checks his phone for school updates from Bressie. _Worried about Thuan_ , is the text Niall gets as the train pulls into the station and Harry wakes up from his nap with an expression like a stunned carp. _Not vocal like Vicks, hasn’t talked much, keeps to himself. Mai can’t get him to talk either. I’m going to try and have a heart to heart with him_.

 _Good luck_ , Niall texts back. _Lemme know how it goes_.

It’s like he has two different lives, has split himself in two different places. He’s here, checking into the hotel and getting ready for this posh party, but his heart’s fixed to a clock hand that’s stuck pointing home, with the kids and the school never far from his mind. Harry senses his mood and keeps up a steady stream of silly comments, lovely background noise for Niall to grunt to. Doing up Niall’s tie for him because Niall never did learn how to do it properly, brushing the lint off his suit. 

“Game time?” Harry says, eyes bright. 

“Lead the way, Styles,” Niall says, and follows him out of the hotel and to the party. Which is — everything you’d expect of what it is, he thinks. Eighteen-year-olds having the of their lives dancing to what the latest model-slash-DJ-in-my-spare-time spins while the famous guests mill around earning their keep. Niall and Harry pay their respects to the birthday boy, chat with him a bit while Niall pulls out a funny One Direction story, guaranteed to make people laugh. Harry jumps in and adds embellishments that may or may not be true.

“Now let me tell you about this school Nialler’s been helping run,” Harry says smoothly. “You gotta hear about this.”

They walk away with a check for three thousand pounds, on top of Niall’s appearance fee, and Niall grabs Harry by the ears and kisses him on both cheeks. “Thank you,” he says, while Harry shakes his head so hard that it wobbles on his shoulders.

“Nah, that was all you,” he says. “That kid was giving you moony eyes. Don’t be surprised if he somehow ‘accidentally’ crawls into your hotel bed tonight.”

“Bloody hell,” Niall says. "Did I somehow become a heartthrob and not notice?”

“Ah, Nialler,” Harry says, turning around to steal a goat cheese whatever-the-fuck-it-is from a passing tray, “you’re the only one who hasn’t, yeah?” He starts to shove the cheese into his mouth but right then someone standing a few feet behind them drops their highball, and it hits the ground with a sharp ring of glass that’s loud enough to be heard even above the music. Niall watches as Harry’s hand freezes. 

“Harry?” Niall asks as Harry’s pupils dilate. “Shit, you okay?”

Harry swallows, tries to fight it off, but Niall can see the scared sweat that’s suddenly beading the slope of his nose, can see the way his hand shakes so that he’s this close to dropping what he has in it. Niall takes the goat cheese thing from him and sets it back on the tray. He leans in close, but not so close that Harry can’t have his space. “Hey,” he says gently, and Harry lets out all of his breath in one huge seasick gasp.

“I — the toilets,” he says. 

Niall goes with him. “‘Scuse us, ‘scuse us,” he says, elbowing the deep line for the loo. “My mate here’s gonna be sick, ‘scuse us.” He hauls Harry up to a sink where Harry’s still having trouble breathing, and rubs careful circles over Harry’s back while running cold water. 

“Breathe,” Niall instructs. “Take it easy. Nothing here to hurt you. In. Out. In. Out.” He continues rubbing. “You’re doing so good.”

“Can I — have a moment to myself?” Harry rasps. 

“Yeah, of course,” Niall says. “I’ll be out here if you need me.” He watches Harry duck into the next available stall, practically barreling the bloke who exits it, while Niall leans against the counter and gives everyone who’s watching them his flattest glare. Nothing to see here, his body language says. Don’t even think about posting this. He’ll rip phones from hands if need be.

Harry takes twenty minutes in the stall. Niall texts Bressie about Thuan. When Harry comes out, there’s slightly more colour on his cheeks. He washes his hands, straightens his tie, and together they walk out, through the door, down the hall, and out of the party entirely. It’s a mild night with hardly any windchill, and instead of catching a cab back to their hotel they walk it instead — it’s not something they have to talk about, they just do.

There was a lot of broken glass, Niall thinks, in One Canada Square, when the bugs attacked. 

“The first time,” Harry finally says, while they're waiting at an intersection for a walklight to turn green. “I didn’t know what to do. Liam found me in the bathtub. I think,” he says with a dry laugh, “I was naked.”

“It’s a thing you do,” Niall agrees. “Liam helped you then?”

“Yeah,” Harry says. “He said if it ever happened again and I wanted him there, he’d be there, no questions asked. And he was.” He tilts his head and looks at Niall consideringly. “Not that you and Louis weren’t good to me either, when I was — in that bad place that I got to. But it was different, y’know?”

When Niall doesn’t say anything, Harry explains. “You and Louis were together, you had each other. I didn’t want to, like, mess that up.”

“You wouldn’t have,” Niall says. “Never.”

“It’s not the same, though,” Harry says. “Oh look, light’s turned green. Walk on, walk on.” He gives Niall an encouraging push. “Anyway, what was I saying? Oh yeah, Liam. Being Liam-y. Maximum Liam-ness.” He swings his arms and legs. “He told me it wasn’t shameful, to ask for help. Professional help, even.”

Niall’s throat hurts. He swallows.

“I wasn’t in love with him then,” Harry says. “But now he’s coming back in twenty-two days, and I have _dreams_ about it, dreams where I’m the first person he goes to after he lands, and I want it, Niall,” his voice chokes. “I want it so much.”

“That’s brilliant, Haz,” Niall says earnestly. “Liam’s always loved you the best. Reckon it might make him beyond happy to hear that you might feel the same.” Harry gives a weak little disbelieving laugh, and Niall knocks their arms together. “And I’m sorry, for what it’s worth. If Louis and I weren’t — if we weren’t as there for you as we should have been. I didn’t know.”

“No, it was still good,” Harry says slowly. “Seeing you and Louis. It did help. Made me remember,” he waves his hands, “that even in shit times, people can still be happy. Just took some time to find that for myself.”

“And now Liam’s coming home in twenty-two days,” Niall says. He starts to smile. “You think you’re ready for that?”

“I think,” Harry says, “I think I need a haircut.”

 

:::

 

Harry flies back to L.A. from Dublin while Niall takes the return train to Mullingar. He hears from Harry in the morning. _remember your vidchat date!_ Harry texts, but Niall doesn’t actually need the reminder, has already set up his laptop with webcam on his kitchen table while banishing Zayn to the bedroom with the door closed. Zayn was only too happy to go.

He opens up the special software he had to download the first time he did this and watches the logo on the screen spin and spin. Finally, a message pops up. _Lance Corporal Louis Tomlinson requests a meeting. Do you accept?_

Niall feels like he’s about to pass out, he’s so nervy. “Louis,” he breathes when the screen goes live and he sees Louis sitting in a computer lab, wearing camos and a white tank pulled low enough to expose his collarbones. He looks like he’s just come from a workout, or maybe a fight, his shoulders wet with sweat, and Niall’s heart is just — it sees him and it’s off to the races like a horse leaping out of its gate.

“Hey little mouse,” Louis says, smiling. “Twenty days left.”

“Twenty days left,” Niall echoes, his voice thick with feeling. “God, Lou, _twenty days left_. That’s so soon.” He’s scooting his chair closer to the table without realizing it, pressing his face closer to the screen. “Can’t believe it’s so soon.”

“But not soon enough,” Louis says. “Jesus, you know how hard it’s been? To focus on the war and shooting down Uninvited ships when all I can think about is—” He runs his hands through his hair and smirks. “Are you alone right now?”

“Mm, kind of,” Niall says.

“Kind of?” Louis says. “What, you’ve got one of your students over?”

“No,” Niall admits, “I’ve got an, erm, special guest. Someone you might remember arguing with a lot?”

Even though he’s left it deliberately vague, Louis gets it right away. Not a lot of people where Niall wouldn’t outright say the name over the comms. “Are you fucking serious?” he says, eyebrows jumping. “Is Z— I mean, fuck,” he amends. “What the fuck.”

“He’s my friend, I’m not kicking him out even if you’re still mad at him,” Niall says, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, he’s in the next room so he can’t hear us. Probably.”

“Oh, I wish he could hear what I’d say,” is the dark reply.

“Louis,” Niall whines.

“What is it, babe?” Louis asks, clearly having to wrench his attention back to the task at hand. He sees Niall’s pointed look and smiles, amused. “You think I’m not paying enough attention to you?” 

“We’ve only got fifteen minutes,” Niall says. “Focus.”

“Lemme see what you’re wearing,” Louis says. “Stand up. Do a twirl for me. Wanna see those skinny legs of yours in action.”

Niall grumbles but he gets up and lets Louis look his fill. “Are _you_ alone?” Niall asks. “Don’t wanna give everyone on the entire base a free peek.”

“Liam’s on the computer beside me,” Louis says. “Playing Solitaire.”

“Hi Niall!” he hears Liam say.

“Oh, that’s alright then,” Niall says, and he hooks his thumbs into the sides of his briefs before dropping them. Even though the vidchat doesn’t have the best sound quality, he can hear the noise Louis makes, can hear him tell Liam to get the fuck out of the computer lab and make sure no one else comes in.

Liam wanders by the screen with his hands over his eyes. “See you soon, Niall,” he says.

“Bye Liam,” Niall says cheerfully. “You might wanna give Harry a ring when you land on earth. I think he’s eager to hear from you.”

“Fuck,” Louis says when Liam’s well and gone, “we’ve only got thirteen minutes left, let’s make it count. Give me a show, babe. Wanna see you.”

Niall sits back down and starts jerking himself off slowly, praying Zayn isn’t stupid enough to come out of the bedroom for, like, a snack craving or summat. “Mm,” he says, watching Louis’ eyes darken. “Must not be a lot of options in space, if you’re so desperate to see a quick wank.”

“Plenty of options in space,” Louis scoffs. “If you were here, you’d see. Everybody’s horny in a war. Got ladies and gents gagging for me all day long.”

Niall flushes. He imagines it’s true, can’t fathom anybody who looks at Louis and doesn’t want some of that. He pushes his prick up into his fist, smears the precome over the tip and tilts the camera down so that Louis can see it.

“But I don’t want any of those options,” Louis says, mouth open as he breathes. Niall flushes harder. “Got a beautiful lad waiting for me at home, don’t I? Waiting for me to make an honest man out of him.”

“Louis,” Niall moans. His hips snap up as he fucks his own hand, getting a good rhythm going while Louis watches him like a man starving for water. They’re probably being monitored right now, probably someone in upper brass is going to notice and hit the stop button any moment, but despite what Niall said about not wanting to give strangers a free peek, he doesn’t actually give a fuck. 

This is their very last vidchat before Louis comes home, so it doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter if he’s being a unrepentant slag on camera for the entire British military to see. Doesn’t matter if this recording gets posted on the internet for the whole world to download. Only thing that’s important is that Louis sees too, sees him tug at himself until his hand’s wet and slippery, until he’s tilting his head back and moaning steadily, whimpering Louis’ name.

“Jesus,” Louis says. “Jesus, oh my god, _Niall_.”

It’s been too long. Niall will have to impress with his stamina another time. Five minutes in and he comes, bending over until his chest is practically touching his knees as his mouth opens on a wordless wail. When he looks up at the screen again Louis’ red-faced and sweatier than ever, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down his throat. 

“That was so good,” Niall croaks, licking his lips before licking the come off his fingers. “Needed that, I did.”

“Fuck,” Louis says meaningfully, closing his eyes and working to keep himself under control. Niall smirks at him. 

“Hope you liked that,” he says. “Not like I know what I’m doing. Not like I’ve ever shagged anybody other than you.” He knows it drives Louis mad to be reminded of that, and he’s rewarded by the pained sound Louis makes, like Niall’s hurting him in the best sort of way.

“Wait for me, babe,” Louis says roughly, opening his eyes again and swaying into the camera. This close, Niall can see how blue Louis’ eyes are, especially when he’s turned on. It’s not like he’d forgotten, but. He shivers. “You gotta promise to wait for me,” Louis repeats.

“Been waiting for two years,” Niall says. “Reckon I can last twenty more days.”

“I’m gonna chain you to the bed when I get back,” Louis promises. “Fuck you til you can’t walk.”

“God, please,” Niall says, his voice scraping low. His fingers twist on his thighs where his come is starting to flake and dry. He looks at the timer. Seven minutes left. “Got so much I want to do with you when you’re home,” he says. “So much I wanna tell you, and hear about. When you’re home,” Niall looks straight into the camera, sees how Louis’ breath catches, “I’m never letting you leave me again.”

“Those are my new commands, are they?” Louis asks.

“Those are your new commands,” Niall says. “Ignore them at your own risk.”

Louis laughs and salutes him lazily.

Twenty more days, Niall thinks, pulse wet in his throat. Twenty more days, twenty more days, only twenty more days.

 

:::

 

There’s a girl on the roof of his cottage, looking at the roses. 

Niall finds some solid footing and swings up to join her. The shingles are wet with melting snow so she’s hunched over in froggy crouch, staring at where the roses have decided to abandon the trellis and froth over onto the roof in a skirt of pink and whites. “There’s someone inside your house,” Mai says absently when he crouches beside her.

“That so,” Niall says carefully, trying not to blink.

“I thought it was a robber,” she says. “The curtain moved and someone looked out. I knew it wasn’t you cos you’re supposed to be helping with a class, so.”

Niall winces. He’s going to have to talk to Zayn about his tendency to lurk near windows, though at the same time it feels cruel since the only light Zayn’s getting these days is the watery film of Niall’s fluorescent overheads. If Zayn were a houseplant, he thinks, Niall would’ve already had to shuffle his dried up body into the trash bin.

“I turned into a mouse,” Mai continues. “Snuck in through a hole in the ground and climbed through your walls to check.” She rolls her shoulders. “Killed another mouse for you, by the way.”

“Erm, thanks, for the mouse on mouse combat,” Niall says. “So you went inside my cottage.”

“Yeah,” Mai says casually. “But it wasn’t a robber, was it? It’s that bloke that was with you in One Direction.” She rubs her hands together and blows into them for warmth. “I didn’t let him see me. He was dancing around pretending to sing into a spoon. It was,” her brow flicks with embarrassment, “so lame.”

“You know I gotta ask you to keep this between us,” Niall says. “He’s not supposed to be—” He clears his throat. “It could be bad, if people knew.” But he can tell from Mai’s expression that she doesn’t really care about exposing Niall’s little fugitive situation. Probably took one look at Zayn shimmying around singing in his underwear, the way he does sometimes when he thinks he’s alone, and all rational thought flew out of her head.

“‘m not gonna tell,” she says, two spots of pink on her cheeks.

“Alright,” Niall says. He narrows his eyes. “If you thought it might be a robber, why would you sneak _into_ the cottage, mate? Why wouldn’t you run and get a teacher?”

Mai shrugs. “Supposed to be a soldier soon, aren’t I?”

“Shouldn’t you be studying right now, soldier? Mr. Patel says you’ve not finished your online biology course.” 

“Hate bio,” she replies. “Too much to memorize.” She shifts onto her feet and stamps them to get rid of the snow. “But don’t let Thuan or Vicky skip classes when I’m gone, yeah? Write to me. Tell me if they’re getting good grades or not. Send me, like, photos of their report cards.”

“Whatever you want,” Niall says, but she doesn’t look at him.

“I’ll send pictures too,” she says, studying the mud on her boots. “Hope they station me somewhere good. Somewhere exciting. Cos it _is_ kind of exciting, innit? Never left Ireland before.” She looks at him then, with her pointy chin and her dark eyes and her ragged pixie cut that Bressie takes her into town every two months to trim. They tried cutting her hair at the school once, and she didn’t speak to any of them for weeks. There’s a question in the furrow of her brow, in the anxious press of her lips that she’s letting him see.

And Niall thinks: that’s true too. You can hate to leave and ache for it at the same time. You can love someone — a brother, a sister, a fiancé, a team — and still feel the call that reels you from your bed and takes you from your home. And maybe this is also true: that if you love well enough, hard enough, let it shape you and hurt you and open you, you’ll always have a home to come back to, when you’re ready.

“You _better_ send us pictures,” Niall says, punching Mai in the arm. She goes “oww” and rubs it, glaring. “A new selfie every day,” he says. “Selfies in London. Selfies in Paris. Selfies on trains. Selfies on planes. Selfies with superheroes. Selfies on the moon. Selfies until we’re sick of your smug little face,” he says, and Mai makes a sound that’s like a snort but also a _Mr. Horan, you’re weird and embarrassing_.

The noise withers under her tongue when they see Bressie come up the path, looking grim. Niall’s body immediately goes into alert, remembers so effortlessly how to do it from One Direction and whenever the radio would crackle with news of a Sector 3 attack. “Brez?” he calls out, shimmying off the roof and landing on his feet.

“We can’t find Thuan,” Bressie murmurs. “No one’s seen him since breakfast.” Mai’s looking at them, still on the roof, not quite close enough to hear, but she’s getting tense, knees pressed together.

“The school—” Niall starts.

“Been searching,” Bressie says. “Didn’t want to make a fuss when he was probably just sulking in the loo, but it’s been a few hours and—” He looks at Mai directly and she jumps down from the roof so quickly that she hisses in pain as she lands on her ankle. “Careful!” Bressie bites, but she hobbles towards them at full speed.

“This is about me, yeah” she asks. “S'wrong?”

Bressie doesn’t sugarcoat it. “Can’t find Thuan,” he says gruffly, “and I just got a call. There’s a been superbug sighting ten clicks west, on the Carroll farm.”

“Christ.” Niall can’t hide the alarm in his voice even if the last thing he wants is for Mai to hear it. Students aren't supposed to see their teachers rattled, but the truth is, he is. There’s not been an Uninvited attack on Westmeath in seven years; it’s not like they’re exactly a hotbed of important military targets. 

“Thuan’s an eejit,” Mai spits in fury. “Told him not to leave the grounds without me, but now he’s wandered off and gotten himself lost, the twat.” She spins on Bressie. “Let’s go.”

Bressie holds up his car keys. “Watch the school,” he tells Niall. “Ivers is getting all the kids indoors. Doors are thick. They’ll hold for a long time, depending on the size of the bug. But the windows—” He and Niall are looking at each other, thinking of the conversations they’d had about this when they were first fixing up the estate, and how it’s so obvious now what the weak spots are, things they could’ve taken care of earlier but didn’t because they ran out of time, or money, or patience. Jesus fuck, Niall thinks, who let them be in charge here, who decided they were qualified enough to do this.

“Go,” he says, because there’s nowhere safer for Mai to be than with Bressie. He gets out his phone and texts Zayn to warn him about the bug, and then he’s hurrying off to the main building where Ms. Ivers — housekeeper, dorm mother, third in command — has all the students in the gym. “Just like we practiced,” she says. 

“If there’s a bug out there, why ain’t we fighting it?” Pierce questions. “Aren’t we supposed to be superheroes?”

“No one’s a superhero yet, Mr. Dillon,” she says briskly. “Now sit down.” When she sees Niall, she takes him by the elbow and tugs him aside. “Twitter and me aunt in town says it’s a giant spider,” she says, hushed. “Just the one, thank god. But it’s heading our way. Can’t be far now. Patel, Byrne, and Kavanagh are waiting for your orders,” she adds, naming the members of staff who’re also mutants.

Niall draws in a full-bodied breath. Thinks about how Louis used to do this, give orders to the team like he was so sure of what he was doing. “Stay with the kids,” he says. “All of you. Watch for the windows.”

“What about you then?” Ivers asks.

“Plenty used to fighting giant spiders, aren’t I?” he says with a tiny smile. “Chief skill on my resume. Don’t worry, ‘m just gonna scope it out. If I need backup, I’ll call for it.” She lets him go with a worried expression but Niall’s already changing into a greyhound and loping out of the gym. The kids watch him go and cheer. There’s not a single scared, crying face among them, not even the wee ones, and he’s so proud. Makes a note to tell them that later. 

Ms. Byrne holds the door open for him as he dashes into the cold and starts circling the grounds, sniffing the air hungrily for any sign of their enemy. His greyhound legs propel him forward, lean and elegant, tireless. There’s loads of ground to cover, it’s not a small estate, and he starts with the western perimeter closest to the Carroll farm, running through the copse of trees and past the old broken-down fence that he and Bressie mean to fix, the well, the little stream that feeds eventually into Lough Owel.

He’s looking for the spider, looking for Thuan, and when he hears both, his heart drops like a weight on a scale because it’s where he least wants it to be. Somehow the spider’s come from the other direction, the direction it wasn’t supposed to, and he can hear the sound of a boy calling out for help near the heart of the estate, near the school.

Niall immediately turns around from the perimeter and starts running back, hard as he can. The sound of Thuan’s cries grow louder and louder, and Niall’s guts start flopping like choice bits of meat in his chest, slick and wet with fear. The main building pulls into view, but he doesn’t see Thuan there. He turns his head, panting, and Thuan’s by Niall’s cottage, clinging to the roses with the giant spider advancing on him, teetering on its spindly arachnid legs.

Niall realizes two things at once: he’s not going to get there in time, not on these legs, and secondly, he knows what kind of spider this is. He’s seen them often enough in Sector 3, vicious and venomous; he’s seen them kill.

He’s made a mistake, he realizes. He should have brought another teacher out with him after all. Niall’s a shapeshifter, he can move passably fast in animal-form, but when his fastest isn’t fast enough, he’s got no long-range powers to compensate, nothing that can strike from a distance — and that’s when the door to the cottage flies open and a knife comes hurling straight into the spider’s eye. The knife moves by itself, no hand to guide it, but Zayn doesn’t need to touch something to launch it at lethal speeds, does he.

The spider screams and recoils. Thuan drops to his knees; Zayn materializes in the doorway and grabs him by the collar. He throws him inside the cottage, slams the door shut with Zayn on the outside of it. The knife is wriggling in the spider’s socket, Zayn trying to yank it out with his telekinesis. 

The spider spits out a mouthful of blue venom, bright as a jewel. Zayn rolls and ducks the splatter, scrambling onto his knees. The spider rounds on him again. The tendons in Zayn’s neck pop out as he grunts and pulls the knife out of the spider’s eye with all his strength. Then he slams it back in, into the other eye, and that’s when Niall changes into a bear and hits the spider at full sprint.

It’s just the one spider. They’ve fought worse. Hell, Harry’s been casually kidnapped by worse. As long as they avoid the poison. And they do, because Zayn spins the knife in the air and begins hacking away at the spider’s poison sacs until they plop on the ground and the spider is stumbling around, dying. Niall finishes it off by seizing its head between his bear-teeth and crunching.

“Every time I see that,” Zayn says, out of breath, “it never stops being gross. Hope you brush your teeth after, mate.”

Niall drops back into human-form, lands on his bare arse in the snow. “Doesn’t taste too bad, actually,” he croaks. “Kind of like a gooey extra-thick protein shake.” Zayn makes a face and holds out his hand, yanking him to his feet. Niall wobbles as he goes.

“Let’s get you inside,” Zayn says, “before you freeze.”

“Thuan—”

They both look up to see a bespectacled face peering out the cottage window. Niall waves and gives a thumbs up. Thuan very slowly closes his fingers and gives a shaky thumbs up in return. “Need to check none of the poison got on him,” Niall says, hearing how his own voice slurs with tiredness. He’s definitely out of shape. Louis would laugh his face off if he knew how much. “Need to check all of us. There’s a medical kit at the school.”

“I can’t—” Zayn says, but he stops. Looks at the other set of windows, across the field, where all thirty kids and handful of teachers are pressed up against the glass, ghosting it white with their breaths. “Never mind,” he says. “Too late for that, then.”

 

:::

 

These things happen:

Niall calls Bressie to tell him to come back, the spider’s dead and he’s found Thuan. Mai’s the one who answers Bressie’s mobile for him in the car, her voice reedy, and when they return to the school there’s fury and tempers and brother and sister stomping around the foyer shouting until they’re exhausted. They don’t speak to each other for three days, and then, one morning during breakfast, they do. Mai peels an apple and hands it to Thuan in bristly silence, and Thuan suddenly bursts into tears and tells her that he hates apples, hates her, hates everything.

“No, you don’t,” Mai says. 

“I do,” Thuan says, snot-faced. “I hate everything.”

“C’mere, you eejit, and tell me about it,” she says, and she holds out her hand, palm up. Thuan stares at her, wipes his nose on his sleeve, and takes it. They walk out of the dining hall together, bickering, Vicky scrambling off her bench and following them.

These things happen:

Bressie and Ms. Ivers decide to move the Ngo siblings into their own room in the dorms so they can have some privacy, can stay up all night talking if they want. No point in keeping them apart boys with boys, girls with girls, if they’re only going to crawl into each other’s beds at night anyway. Three beds, side by side, a dresser, a desk. Niall helps Bressie wrestle the furniture down the hall and through the door. Lila and Kieran come in and make roses grow reckless-wild on the windowsills.

These things happen:

“Hey,” Niall says, “lads, mind if I have a word?”

Pierce and Lorcan look up from kicking a footie ball on the lawn. “Sure, Mr. Horan, what’s up,” Lorcan says, balancing the ball on his hip. 

“You two are Thuan’s best mates, right?” Niall says. 

“Yeah,” Pierce says. “Thuan’s a good egg.”

“He’s gonna need his mates, once his sister leaves,” Niall says. “He’s gonna be sad sometimes, and withdrawn, and maybe not always very nice, but he’s gonna need you to help him, yeah?” Lorcan and Pierce nod, slowly. “You’re a team,” Niall says. “You stick together even when it’s hard.”

These things happen:

There’s a wormhole on the Carroll farm. Niall drives out with Zayn looking for it after the spider’s been buried, the kids are gone home or in their rooms, and everything’s quiet. They close it.

These things happen:

“My bag’s in the backseat,” Zayn says. “When we’re done with the wormhole, you’re gonna drive me to town and leave me at the train station.”

Niall’s fingers tighten on the wheel.

“Don’t be daft,” Zayn says. He fumbles with a pack in his coat pocket and lights a cigarette, rolling down the window so that he can exhale into the evening air. “All those kids seeing me and you think a single one won’t accidentally tell their parents?”

“I know,” Niall says. “That’s not it.”

“What then?”

“Dunno,” Niall says, dragging his lip between his teeth. “Just, you can still be sad, can’t you? Even when you know a thing is coming.” 

“Yeah,” Zayn says, and they’re each in their own headspace for a while, Niall driving, Zayn staring out at the darkening country fields, the shadows pulling on the trees. “Got an email from Liam in one of my throwaway accounts,” Zayn finally says. He laughs sharply. “Felt my phone buzz in my pocket during the spider fight, actually. Of course it turns out to be an email from Liam. Perfect timing, that lad.”

“What’s it say?” Niall asks, smiling. Seventeen days left, he thinks with a reverent hush.

Zayn shifts his smoke to one hand so that he can look through his phone with the other. “Sent it to both of us, actually,” he says. “Not Harry though.”

“Well,” Niall says, “Suspect he might have things to say to Harry that he don’t want us to know.”

“You think?” Niall nods. “Huh,” Zayn says, “alright then.” He thumbs his screen and reads the email out loud.

Liam’s antsy to come home, they learn, counting down the days like the rest of them. He’s been working out extra hard lately to counteract how weak his body’ll be when it enters Earth atmosphere. Louis claims it won’t help, but Liam still wants to try, and besides, it’s not like he’s got anything else to do while he waits. Everything’s quiet on base, there’s been no sighting of the Uninvited ships lately, hasn’t been for months now, actually. There’s rumours of peace talks, but they’re just rumours, soldiers are always gossiping, telling each other truths that turn out to be lies, lies that turn out to be truths. 

“ _Had a vision yesterday_ ,” Zayn reads, and Niall looks up at that because Liam’s visions are no joke. “ _A long-range one. Felt like a dream. I dunno where we were, I dunno what we were doing, I could tell we were older but not by how much. Kind of a shit vision, really, but not shit at the same time cos—_ ” Zayn slows down as he reads. “ _One day all five of us will be together again_.”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Niall drawls, “you heard it here first.”

Zayn’s smile folds the corners of his eyes. Niall imagines he’ll have wrinkles there one day. He can’t wait to see. After they close the wormhole, Niall drives them into town, parking by the train station. Zayn puts on his beanie that hides his hair and slips on his sunglasses that eclipses most of his face. “You look like a trash bag someone tossed out after a party,” Niall says, and Zayn flips him the bird while grabbing his duffel from the backseat. He pats down his pockets, making sure he’s not forgot anything.

“Thanks,” Zayn says when there’s nothing else to do but leave.

“What, for letting you mooch off me?” Niall asks sunnily. “For letting you hog the blankets? For not wanking in bed beside you? For watching your shit shows on the telly? For pretending to laugh at your jokes so’s you’ll feel good about yourself?” He spreads his fingers. “You gotta narrow it down. It’s a long list.”

“For being my best mate,” Zayn says, “even when I haven’t deserved it.”

“Nah,” Niall says, “reckon that part’s easy.”

They press their fists together, and then Zayn goes, disappearing through the doors and into the crowd, melting through strangers. These things happen.

 

:::

 

The one good shining thing of Niall’s life, what he’ll remember to be thankful for even if all else goes to the dogs, is that he’s never really felt alone. He’s always managed to accidentally stumble into being a part of something. It’s sort of a gift, really. He left his family but he got One Direction out of it, and when One Direction ended and Louis re-enlisted in a place where Niall couldn’t — and didn’t want to — follow, there’d been a text from Bressie that said, _Got my eye on a place, bit of a fixer-upper but might do. Still game for helping me chase my mad dreams, chief?_

He’s not alone either after Zayn leaves. His classes keep him busy, and his students keep him young in the head and old in the knees. But he feels listless all the same. When school finishes for the day, his bed’s too cold and his shower’s too hot. He orders a pizza one night and eats it all himself in bed, balancing the box on his bare stomach while he watches the last few episodes of Avatar: The Last Airbender he and Zayn never got to. 

The next day he decides the light’s no good in his cottage, so he orders bulbs with better wattage on Amazon. Day after, he gets on his hands and knees and crawls around looking for mice. His footie team loses their next match. He howls at the screen and feels ridiculous.

He goes on Facebook for the first time in ages and sees someone’s trying to get all the X-Factor contestants of their year together. Sixth year anniversary reunion in London, the message says, and Niall scrolls through the names attached, seeing friends, people he’s only ever talked to at those awkward parties General Cowell kept throwing, and people he’s never even talked to at all. 

He friends a couple of people he feels bad about not keeping in touch with and goes through their feeds, clicking like on pictures of their marriages, new houses, first babies. He calls Harry and says, “You thinking about going to this reunion?”

“Doubt it,” Harry says. Niall hears him yawn, and oh yeah, time difference. “Gotta go back to filming soon.”

“Yeah?” Niall asks, pressing his hip into his kitchen counter as he wrestles with a jar of salsa for his microwave cheese nachos. “Time to wake up from your coma?”

“True love’s kiss,” Harry says, singsong.

“Speaking of,” Niall says mildly. “Eleven days left. Figured out what to say to Liam yet?”

“God no,” Harry says. “I’m terrified.”

“It’s _Liam_ ,” Niall replies, going “aha!” when the jar finally pops open. Niall: 1, unfairness of the universe: 0. “They don’t get cuddlier than Liam without being actual button-eyed soft toys.”

“What if I wrote a speech?” Harry says dreamily. “And then I just… leave it on his voicemail....”

“You know how Louis and I got together?” Niall says, snickering at his own words because he’s become _that_ person who gives advice to his single friends. 

“...consensual anal sex?” Harry hazards a guess.

“No, you twat,” Niall says. “By being upfront with him.”

“No you didn’t,” Harry argues. “I was there. First go-around, you literally dumped Louis and made him the saddest little weathervane in the world cos you were so shit at talking about your feelings.”

“Whatever, mate,” Niall says, dumping salsa onto his nachos. “It’s good advice anyway. You should take it.”

He ends up not going to the X-Factor reunion, though he sees the pictures all over his accounts later, sends quick cheerful messages to Little Mix and the others who did go. _Looks like good times!!_ he writes, and then tucks his phone in his back pocket to go fix the fence on the western edge of the school grounds. Mai comes to help. They slip on horse-form to haul the wood from the barns, and then make an afternoon of it, patching up the places where the old wood’s gone to rot.

Time passes. There’s never a shortage of things to do. Niall starts making plans for a field trip for some of the students to their sister school in Kilkenny. There’ll be sports and shared classes and exhibitions for everyone to show off their powers, in a wholly responsible and safe way, of course, that means no one’s getting lit on fire. He heads into town to guest speak at a local primary school’s Career Week where he waits his turn after police officers and nurses and chefs. His name tag reads: Mr. Horan, Superhero. 

He runs errands around town and meets a bloke at a petrol station with his son who’s fourteen and a newly minted telepath. They ask about Westmeath Special Academy. Niall hands him his business card, marvels at the fact that he’s now at a life stage where he just casually has business cards on him at all times, and invites them to come in for a visit.

He borrows books from the public library so he can learn Photoshop and finish the yearbook layout. He throws a birthday party for Ms. Byrne and carries all the drunk staff to bed. He cheers on Bressie during open mic night at the pub. He examines his calendar, thinks about spring, and starts planning what he wants to grow in his tiny personal garden. He bids on a Fair Isle jumper at a community auction to help rebuild the parts of the Carroll farm the spider destroyed. He tries a new smoothie recipe Harry texts him. He debates taking up jogging again.

Eleven days becomes eight becomes five becomes three. And then:

“Hiya,” Louis says when Niall picks up on the first ring, and Niall closes his eyes for balance until he trusts himself to speak. For the first time in years, his heart’s not somewhere in space circling the stars. His heart’s on earth, terra firma, root and soil. His heart’s in Houston, sitting in a folding chair in a NASA office waiting for his final debrief. 

“Louis,” Niall says into the phone, and sobs. 

“What is this, little mouse, don’t fucking cry,” Louis says. He’s laughing, bright and keen and amused, and Niall begins the process of relearning Louis Tomlinson right there. A life’s work, he decides, breath stuttering with how overwhelmed he’s feeling while Louis laughs at him some more. “Wanted to let you know I landed safely,” Louis says. “Can’t talk for long — they’ve got me in meetings for the next three hours, and then I’m straight on a flight to Dublin. Liam says hi, by the way.”

He passes the phone over and it’s Liam saying, “Nialler! Did you know Tommo has this wrinkled photo of you he carries everywhere and he’s making all of us admire it? Threw a proper strop when Lieutenant Jamison said you were kind of funny-looking.”

Niall laughs; it sounds choked in his mouth like he’s eaten cotton balls.

Liam hands the phone back to Louis, who says, “Might’ve punched him in the bollocks. Not saying either way.” 

“Punched him?” Niall can hear Liam shout. “You, like, slapped him in the face with all the strength of a ping pong ball.”

“Ping pong balls are very traumatic!” Louis retorts, and Niall listens to the two of them bicker, hiding his smile behind his hand even though no one’s around to see and call him out on it. It feels like it’s too much, is all, like it’s everything he’s ever wanted and it might be taken away any moment. 

He’s completely useless for the rest of the day, can’t concentrate on a single thing. His students realize this golden opportunity they’ve been given and instead of practicing their powers or forms, spend all class looking at Youtube videos and doodling on each other’s arms with sharpies. Niall drifts around like a lost lamb and thinks about where Louis might be right now over the Atlantic Ocean, wondering what in-flight movie he might be watching, if he’s managing to get any shuteye, if his blanket’s keeping him warm, if he’s eating what the flight attendants give him or ordering crisps, pretzels, and Twizzlers off the overpriced menu. He won’t have had much of any of that in space, Niall thinks, and flushes for no reason.

“Tomlinson’s due in, what, six hours?” Bressie asks, catching him after last bell. He makes a show of checking his watch. “Why don’t you take tomorrow off? I’ll cover your classes.” He smirks. “Reckon you’ll be in no fit state to teach.”

Niall’s hanging out with Vicky in the rec room, letting her show him how to make paper flower crowns, when he sees the cab pull up outside the school. “Love, can you give me a moment,” he says, standing up, and Vicky shrugs, crawls over to Thuan to jam a paper crown on his head instead. Niall’s legs feel new and uncertain as he teeters down the stairs and out the door.

He’s not the only one. Louis more or less collapses against the side of the cab when Niall reaches him, like his knees might’ve just decided to go on workers’ strike. “I’d say you look so good, I’m weak at the knees to see ya,” Louis says, “but it’s also them space legs. Gonna take me a while to get used to all this gravity.”

“Bloody gravity,” Niall says. “What a bother.” The cabbie’s still waiting to be paid, so Niall reaches into his wallet. His hands shake so much, it takes him three tries to get his wallet open, and another dozen confused attempts to find the right notes. When he finally manages it, face flaming with embarrassment, he tugs Louis towards him, fingers around Louis’ wrist, thumb over the thud-thud-thud fire of Louis’ pulse.

Louis gives up any pretense of standing and tips over into Niall’s arms like a swooning maid. Niall nearly drops him to the ground but rallies at the last moment, propping Louis up. “Hi,” Louis says, peering up at him beneath his lashes. “Missed you.”

And the one good shining thing of Niall’s life isn’t only that he’s always had a home, had people and place to return to when he’s tired — it’s that he’s Louis’ home too. That when he was ready and all his travels were at an end, Louis came back.

He came back to build a future with Niall. And maybe Niall’s no Liam, he doesn’t know what the future will be, but he doesn’t want to know either. Certainty’s a cold, hard thing with no bend to it. He wants not to know. He wants in his heart there to be a place to grow and water every possibility. 

He wants Harry in his sun-soaked L.A flat singing in the shower as he gets ready for work. He wants Zayn looking at a map in a distant train station to decide where to go next, choosing forwards, never backwards, knowing that he’s loved. He wants Liam standing outside Harry’s door, working up the courage to knock. He wants Bressie playing the guitar in his office while smiling at one of Roz’s texts. He wants Mai, Vicky, and Thuan sprawled out in their room making more paper flower crowns, and with them, memories. 

He wants, and remembers with a swoop of his breath that he _has_ , Louis sprawled sleepily on the bed beside him, tucking in for a jet-lagged nap. He has, after all, genuinely traversed worlds to get here. “Wait,” Louis yawns, “before I forget. I brought you a gift.” He rolls off the bed and goes through his holdall.

“Is it a moon rock?” Niall asks, shuffling up to lean against the headboard. “Is it space dust? Is it alien diamonds?”

It’s a bag of already open, crushed up barbeque crisps from the plane. Louis tosses it onto Niall’s lap and climbs in as well. Niall’s lap is crowded real estate around here. “Saved you half,” Louis says, kissing Niall’s ear, then his nose, then his mouth. 

“You did,” Niall says, “you did, you did,” and Louis laughs into his mouth, tired and joyous, “—you did.”  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

>  _Write a fun, silly fic about 1D as superheroes and Nouis getting together_ , i said to myself. _It'll be 7k, tops!_ Two parts and 58k words later, I've not so much lost the plot as I've beaten it to a pulp with a shovel and buried it among the trees. Thank you, everyone, for having gone on this ride with me. ♥


End file.
